


Kiss Me (Under the Light of a Thousand Stars)

by Iwao, Sophie_French



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A tiny bit of angst but not too much I promise, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Finding Oneself, First Time, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Memory Loss, Mildly Dubious Consent, OCD, PTSD, Pensieve, Romance, Switching, healing/recovering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 114,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwao/pseuds/Iwao, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie_French/pseuds/Sophie_French
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry rescues Draco Malfoy from Azkaban, where he has been imprisoned for three years after the war. Draco is not as Harry remembers, as Azkaban leaves its mark on even the strongest of wizards. With no memory of who he was or how he came to be in Harry's care, Draco needs Harry's help if he is to have any hope of making a full recovery. But Harry has his own demons to fight and together with saving Draco, Harry must also discover a way to find himself. </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story by **Sophie French**  
>  Illustrations by **Iwao**
> 
>  **Author's notes:** It took me fourteen months to write this story, on and off, and it was very, very intense. There are many people I’d like to thank because this story would have been very different if not for their input and support during this long journey.  
>  \- **CleopatraIsMyName,** thank you for your kindness, for your patience, for your enthusiasm and for going over so many rewrites! Thank you for being so quick, and for providing awesome feedback!  
>  \- **Iwao,** thank you, my sweetie, for being such a wonderful friend, for being so quick and efficient, for tracking my typos and mistakes so well! Thank you for supporting me, for pushing me and for believing in me and in this story even when I wanted to throw it all out of the window! And of course, thank you so, so much, for the wonderful, beautiful drawings you did for this story!  
>  \- **Firethesound,** my darling! Thank you for being there for me, always, for reassuring me, for cheering me on and for the wonderful comments that have boosted me and given me the confidence I needed to go on. Thank you for listening to my endless whining, for holding my hand and for being such an amazing friend!  
>  \- **Mab,** thank you for the brit-picking, for being so thorough in your proof-reading, making this story shiny and bright, and for your encouraging words and patience!  
>  \- **Lettered,** thank you for discussing the story with me at one point, for teaching me so many things writing-wise and helping me go over a massive block!  
>  \- **Writcraft, Mab,** our lovely mods, thank you for your patience and for giving me the time I needed to finish this fic properly. Thank you for allowing me to go at my own pace, and not to worry too much about dreaded deadlines. Thank you also for the enlightening discussions! And of course, thank you for running this wonderful fest! It’s been a real pleasure to be a part of this great adventure. Thank you, ladies.  
>  \- A huge, huge thank you to all of you lovely people in the Chatzy rooms for providing support and countless sprints: **Smirking Cat, Chibitoaster, Dicta Contrion, Kedavranox, Zeitgeistic, Tryslora, Lyonessheart,** and many more! I love you all! 
> 
> You will find quotes from the books (Chamber of Secrets, Order of the Phoenix and Deathly Hallows) in chapters 7 (7.1 and 7.7) and 9 (9.2)  
>  Title comes from the song ‘Thinking Out Loud,’ by Ed Sheeran.

  **PART I - AUTUMN**

_“Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons._  
 _We can only record its moods, and chronicle their return._  
 _With us time itself does not progress. It revolves._  
 _It seems to circle round one centre of pain.”_  
Oscar Wilde, De Profundis

_**One** _

_**** _

**\- DRACO -**

**\- I -**

_September to December 2002_  
I find huge comfort in the routine that has been my life for so long I could not remember precisely when I arrived here if my life depended on it. My laugh sounds mental even to my own ears. But there’s nothing funny in it, and I know it.

I open my eyes on the same dirt-grey ceiling every morning and stay like that for hours, lying on my narrow bed, hands under my head, letting my eyes wander on every crack and indent of the irregularly flat surface, letting it tell me the stories of those who had been there before me. I know its patterns so well that I could draw them by heart.

I sometimes do. Whenever I come across a crumpled piece of paper that must have fallen from some guard’s pocket, I take my time, spending hours just trying to flatten the rebellious piece of paper until it’s almost as good as new. After that, I hide it in a small slit in the wall, right behind my bed, being extra careful not to spoil it. It is too precious for me to risk losing or damaging it. I put it there and excitedly wait for the next day to retrieve it. The anticipation of it all makes it hard for me to sleep, those nights. And when morning finally comes, I go very slowly. My hands almost shake with anticipation at the thought of having something exciting to do and I have to brace myself not to rush behind the bed and take it out before everything else has been taken care of.

First, I have to get up. Once again, I try not to rush things, unwilling to ruin the moment. My movements are slow and precise. I first let my left foot reach down to touch the ground, at the exact same spot every morning. I can feel every rough patch under the soles of my feet. There is a huge bump on which my left heel comes to rest and then, further away, at the base of my toes, a series of three smaller ones that fit the sole of my foot perfectly. Then I send my right foot next to the other one, and once again feel the familiar rough surface underneath. At the same time, I lift my upper body so that I’m in a sitting position.

I then wait a minute before standing up. I take three steps (left foot, right foot, left foot again) and reach the washbasin. I open the tap with my left hand and count to thirteen until the water starts flooding in, along with the rickety sound of the pipes. I count again to eight this time, for the water to change colour, from deep brown, to yellow before it is finally of an acceptable colour. It is not clear, though. But it is good enough. I splash my face with the water twice, and the coldness of it helps me get my thoughts straight. Or so I tell myself. I grab the brown towel on the right-hand side of the washbasin, and it is so rough that it could stand on its own – I tried that once, and spent days on end counting how long it could stand up before falling down. My personal record is two thousand and fifty eight seconds. I wipe my face with it and then feel my hands shaking in anticipation again, and it feels almost as good as the real thing.

But it’s not time, not yet. I have to make my bed. First the grey-stained fitted sheets, then the proper sheet and then again, the brown blanket. I carefully tuck them together in the bed, concentrating to make sure every piece of cloth is right in place, from the foot of the bed up to the head. I can feel the cleft forming between my eyebrows as I finally manage to flatten the whole thing.

I hastily slide my fingers in a claw in the slit, retrieving the precious piece of paper, and stare at it for a long while. Two of its sides are regular while the other one isn’t. It’s been torn from somewhere. I stroke it with utter respect, revelling in the softness of it. It feels like silk under my fingers. Then I put it flat on top of the mattress.

I reach for another secret stash behind the toilet seat and take a broken pencil lead that’s about half an inch long, and I hold it hard between my thumb and my index finger, being extra careful not to drop it. I then very delicately place it on the piece of paper and get on my knees on the floor. I close my eyes to contain my excitement and force myself to count up to twenty before opening them again.

The moment I have been waiting for is finally here. I grab the pencil lead between my thumb and index again, and bring it to the piece of paper.

I hear a click on my left but decide to ignore it. It can wait. I have things to do. Another click is followed by a couple of steps and I make an angry noise in the back of my throat. No, not now. I’m busy. But they don’t seem to care about that. They roughly grab my left arm and I panic as I feel the lead of pencil escaping my fingers. No! I try to say, but the sound of my voice remains stuck deep in my throat. I haven’t spoken words out loud for months. I manage to grab the piece of paper with my right hand before they take it away from me and hold it tight in my clenched fist. Oh, no! What do they want from me? Why won’t they let me have my fun? I haven’t bothered anyone? Why are they doing this to me?

I stumble as they try to get me out, shoving me past the bars and I put all my body weight into the struggle. No! Don’t take me out! No! What do they want? I hear one of the guards talk about me like I’m not even here.

“Fucking bastards! We’re trying to set them free and they always give us a hard time!”

Free? I don’t want to be free! I want to stay here! I can’t leave here! I want my narrow bed, with my brown blanket, my washbasin and its rough towel, my cracked ceiling and the rough cold floor! Nothing else! I don’t want out, no! Please don’t take me out!

My body starts shaking uncontrollably and they’re really starting to lose their nerves now. I can feel it.

“I don’t even know why we bother with this scum. Should let them rot here.”

I agree, oh Merlin, I agree. Please leave me here! I feel something wet running against my cheeks and it takes me a second to realise these are tears. I haven’t felt anything like that in years. I turn my head so fast I hear my neck crack, and I feel slightly dizzy, but I want to take a look at my home. I look at it as I cry, desperately trying to memorise every single thing in it, but soon they take me away and it’s all over.

I stop fighting. I stop crying and obediently let them take me wherever they want. They drag me by my arms and my bare feet get badly scratched on the rough flooring but I don’t care. I retreat into myself, making my mind blank and trying hard to bury my soul deep inside of my body.

When they finally stop, I find myself pushed inside a brightly-lit room, with white bare walls, a table and two wooden chairs on either side of it. They force me down onto one of them and I slouch on it, staring at the ceiling, trying very hard not to panic. It is dangerous here. I don’t know here. I want to go back. Please take me back! But it’s too late. I curl up on the seat, bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. Maybe if I make myself small no one will see me? I hear a swishing sound and someone appears out of thin air in front of me. The surprise of it washes the panic away from my system and is soon replaced by curiosity. I look at him.

The first thing I notice are his eyes. Bright green. Hidden by huge round glasses. Then his hair. Messy and dark. His face is hard, his lips pinched tight, and his fists clenched at his sides.

He stands there still and for a moment I’m afraid he has been petrified. But then his chin trembles. His eyes search mine and I look into his as well. They are watery and red around all the green, as if he has just spent hours underwater. He sends me a last look and disappears with another whoosh.

I close my eyes, and start slowly moving back and forth in a rocking motion, wishing the outside world away.

I want to go back to my cell.

There’s another swishing sound and I think for a second that he is back again but he isn’t. It is a woman with long robes, and she holds a stick in her hand. She moves it about me and murmurs something like “ _Dormiscere_ ” and a warm energy washes over me, wrapping itself around my body.

My eyes shut, and everything turns black.

**\- II -**

I open my eyes and close them again. One lid, then the other, very slowly. I try again, but no matter how slow I force my eyes open, this is definitely not the dirt-grey ceiling of my cell. No. This one is so white and smooth that it almost hurts. I shut my eyes tight again, count up to three, take a deep breath, and open them again. Nope. Definitely not the ceiling of my cell.

And what about this soft thing my body is lying on? That is not my bed either! Where are the grey-stained fitted sheets? And the brown blanket? And what is this place? Not a single sound, no clicking sound, no heavy step, no weeping, no whispering… Where am I? What am I doing here? My heartbeat is racing so fast that I’m afraid my heart will explode. My breathing is short and ragged, and my throat constricts and soon I won’t be able to breathe properly and I will die and I-

He is standing right above me. Green eyes and messy hair. My breath catches in my throat. There’s a soft pressure on my chest. His hand. He’s put his hand on my chest, and is rubbing small circles on it. What is he doing? My body relaxes and I force myself to breathe more slowly.

He looks at me, his gaze intense, and this time, his green eyes are no longer watery and red. They are determined. He opens his mouth to speak.

“Malfoy…”

I frown. The name sounds familiar. I don’t have time to dwell on it though, because he goes on. “I’m sorry, I am so, so, sorry.” His hand clenches on my chest as he says the words. I look at him. I don’t understand.

Why am I here? And who is this guy? Why have they brought me here? I wasn’t hurting anyone there; why have they thrown me out? And then the panic rises inside of me. Like a monster full of a mighty rage, it courses through my body and I shake badly. I’m scared. Shitless. I can’t stay here, I have to go! I try to get up but he doesn’t let me. I fight as much as I can but he is way stronger than me. I hear him make a sound and see the stick in his hand, and I panic some more. NO! But before I can move again, it all turns black.

**\- III -**

When I open my eyes again, it doesn’t take as long as before to realise I am not in my cell anymore. I remember the guy with the messy hair and try not to panic again. Nothing good would come out of it. So I do what I know best. I cling to little things. The white ceiling. The soft linen beneath my left fingers. It is not home, certainly not, but it is not as foreign as it was before. It is almost familiar.

I take a deep breath and turn my head slowly to the side, taking in my surroundings.

The place is huge. And green. Dark green. It is a nice colour. Very different from grey and brown, but nice. There is a wooden chair in one corner and a door, closed, facing the bed. At the end of the bed is some sort of rectangular box, an old trunk maybe.

I close my eyes, count up to two-hundred-and-seventy-three and decide it is safe to turn my head the other way.

This side is different. There is one big hole in the wall. A window. It has no bars and a bright light comes through it, and I have to squint my eyes a little. On the left of the window, is a door, and it’s open.

I let my eyes wander over the white ceiling again.

This is it.

I won’t go back there ever again. I don’t know how I know it, but somehow I do. Silent tears run down my temples.

I close my eyes and make everything go dark again.

**\- IV -**

He is back again at my side, holding a tray with lots of things on it. It is very colourful. That’s what strikes me at first. All these colours!

The food back there had many colours too, but they were mainly variations of browns and greys. I realise now how colourless my life was in there.

He puts the tray on the nightstand and I follow it with my eyes.

“You hungry?” he asks in a very soft voice above me. I look at him. There’s something in him that fascinates me. I don’t know why; he is nothing special. Maybe it’s his eyes. They are so intense all the time!

After a while I let my gaze slowly move away from his face and turn my head again to the tray full of colours.

The food there was always the same. Every single day. It was good. Comforting. You knew what you were going to get every time, you knew what to expect. No surprises. And I liked it like that. I want that back. I don’t want all these colours, they’re too much.

I turn my head back to the ceiling and close my eyes. I want my home. I don’t want to be here. I start shaking again and tears fill my eyes and my lips are trembling hard now. My fists are clenched tight again and that’s when I feel it.

I open my eyes with a start, forgetting the rest completely, as I slowly move my right thumb inside of my fist. Oh Merlin, it definitely is here! I feel tears again, but different ones. These are no tears of panic, these are tears of joy, of utter elation. The paper! I still have it! My little piece of home. I stroke it with my thumb frantically over and over again.

A warm hand pressed on mine suddenly brings me back to present. I jerk violently as I clench my fist harder and try to remove my hand from his. No! Don’t take it from me! It’s home! Don’t take it! But he doesn’t. He just rests his hand on top of my clenched fist and a strange warmth fills me again. I breathe more evenly.

“I brought you food. Would you like to eat something?” His voice is deep and warm.

I don’t know how to answer that. I’m hungry, but this is a bit too much. Overwhelming. I take a look at the tray and point at something I haven’t seen any in quite a while. It is brown on the outside and white on the inside and sits on a round plate. My mouth waters at the sight of it. I want that. Yes. I look at him and nod.

Something akin to relief crosses his features and washes over him. He smiles and the edges of his mouth almost reach his ears.

“All right, then,” he says, looking happy. “I’m going to help you sit, if that’s okay with you?”

I nod and he slides his hands around my back and props a pillow behind it. He then takes the tray in his hands and lets it rest on my lap. I reach for the slice of bread and press a tentative finger on it. It sinks in. I look at him. He seems confused. I take my finger back and point at it instead.

“Bread? Is that what you want? Bread?” I nod again. He puts the tray back to the rectangular box and gently hands me the piece of bread. Brown on the outside and white on the inside. Nice, comforting, non-aggressive colours. And soft. I grab it a little bit too eagerly and put it all in my mouth at once. I choke. It’s too big.

I take it out and decide to eat it bit by bit instead. He smiles again at my impatience. God, this feels good. I savour the long-forgotten taste of bread, and I savour the name of it, like an old memory coming back to me. It is quickly over and soon my mouth is empty.

He hands me a glass of water. Or so I _guess_ it is water, because it is very different from the brownish liquid I had back there. This one is clear. Very clear. It looks amazingly pure. I grab the glass and bring it to my lips. God. This is good. So fresh! No after-taste of anything, just pure bliss. I empty the glass in one gulp. He takes it from me and puts it back on the tray.

“Would you like more bread?” More. Bread. Yes, definitely. I want more. I nod again.

“Right, I’ll be right back. Don’t move. I’ll bring you some more bread,” and he goes away, taking the tray with him. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I start counting again. I stop at two-hundred-and-fifty-nine when he comes back. I open my eyes again.

Bread. Loads of it. In a clear wrapping.

“There you go!” he blurts, a proud smile on his face.

I could get used to staying here if he stays with me and brings me bread. And clear water.

Maybe.

**\- V -**

It strikes me like lightning. An incredible discomfort in my lower belly. I need to pee. Badly.

I can’t get up. Not now. Too soon. But I certainly can’t pee in here either.

I put pressure on my crotch, trying to suppress the pain. I try to think of something else, close my eyes, and start counting. But it doesn’t work. I’m distracted. Panic creeps up. What can I do? I glance at the door near the bed. It is slightly open. I lift my head a little, trying to take a peek through the opening. There! A toilet seat. I let out a deep breath of relief.

I still have to reach it, though. And it seems incredibly far away. The uncomfortable sensation gets more insistent. I start shifting my legs, one after the other, trying to sit on the edge, willing my body to behave. It doesn’t. It won’t listen to my silent pleas.

I put a little extra effort in it and manage to sit on the edge of the bed. My body is stiff and my muscles slightly sore. It doesn’t matter.

I count to forty-seven and try to put one foot on the floor. I jerk my foot back up at the sensation beneath my it. It’s too soft and I miss the familiar bumps and indents of my cold rough floor. But I have no choice. I try again and give myself time to adjust to the alien touch. I wriggle my toes a little to take in the changes. I finally decide it is not too bad. I count to forty-seven again before I put my other foot down and give it time to adjust to the sensations as well.

I am not there yet. I still have to stand up. I press my hands firmly into the mattress and try to prop myself into a standing position. My head instantly turns dizzy and I have to close my eyes again to stabilise myself on my feet. It works. I take a deep breath, count up to twenty-two and open my eyes again. I can do it. I have no choice, the sharp pain in my lower belly is a constant reminder I have to move fast.

I take a hesitant step. Nothing bad happens, so I take another one with my right foot. I try to focus on the movements and forget the pain. My left hand is back on my crotch, trying to make my body wait a little bit more. I fix my feet and make them move. Left foot - right foot - left foot again. I reach the door and pause.

I take another breath, close my eyes again and pull it very slowly towards me with my left hand. When it is wide open, I narrow my eyes into very thin slits to gradually discover what lies beyond the door. I take in the sight. On the left is a washbasin with a mirror on top, on the far wall is a bathtub (a bathtub!), and right next to me, facing the washbasin is the toilet seat. Thank God!

I am so happy that I nearly relieve myself right here on the floor. I prevent it from happening by summoning all my inner willpower as strongly as I can and by crossing my legs tightly. I count again until the sensation passes.

I then will my feet to move again carefully, but I am not as conscientious as I should be, the need for release is too strong now for that. I turn my back to the washbasin and away from the mirror and stand in front of the toilet. I rest my fisted hand on the wall, my paper still safely tucked inside of it, and take my dick out of my pants with my other hand. I gasp as I finally let go and the tension leaves my body at once.

**\- VI -**

No. I shake my head again.

No. I send him a dark look.

No. You won’t force me.

No. I won’t go in there.

I’ve made progress over the past few days. I can now get out of my bed without trembling too much and walk around it. I don’t go far though. In fact, I barely ever leave the side of my bed. The only times I venture away from it are when I need the bathroom. Other than that, I keep to the bed.

I have a little routine. I love routines. They make me feel good. They keep me sane. I walk around the bed and count in my head, from the left side, to the right side of it, my hand never leaving the bedcovers. Sometimes, I feel a little braver and do it from the other side. But it feels wrong and is not comfortable so I get back to the normal way. I can do that for hours. It’s good for my legs to get a little bit of exercise. And I just love the way the soft sheets feel under my fingers as I walk around the bed.

I’ve found a place for my paper. When I’m lying down on my bed, I simply have to slide my fingers between the mattress and the bed frame and there it is. I touch it a lot, to check it is still there, and it comforts me to know it is. It soothes me and I fall asleep every night with the feeling of it under my fingers.

I’ve improved with the food too. I still eat a lot of bread, but now he puts things on it. The first time he did that, it caught me off guard and I spat it all out on the sheets. He patiently gave me another one, and this time I observed it very closely. There was a thin layer of butter on it. Very greasy under my fingertips. Not a very nice sensation. I flicked my tongue out and licked it. It made him smile. It was slightly salty, but good. I licked most of it and then put the rest in my mouth.

After that, he started adding more things on the bread until one day I was able to eat something that looked much too big at first for my mouth, but which felt amazing. There were different colours, but that was okay, because they were not too bright. There was the bread, the butter, and a small slice of ham. And then another slice of bread. I had to admit it was tastier than I thought and I ate all of it. He seemed happy, and I like it when he is happy. It brings warmth all over my body.

But right now, he is not happy. Neither am I. He wants me to get into the bathtub but I don’t want to. I keep my fingers tightly clenched on the door frame of the bathroom, as he tries to pull me in. I put all my weight against him.

My limbs are shaking now and sweat is running down my back. I don’t want to go there. No, no, no. Not now. Too soon. I shake my head like a mad man. He sighs heavily and finally lets go.

“Fine,” he mutters, and soon another kind of panic washes over me.

He’s upset. I don’t want him to be upset. I like it when he smiles at me.

I rush on my bed, curling myself up on it and gently rocking back and forth, my arms encircling my knees against my chest.

“Hey, that’s okay,” he says coming closer.

I close my eyes and start counting. I relax a bit. After a while - seventy-three - I feel a gentle pressure on my arm. His hand, warm and comforting.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. I open my eyes and raise an eyebrow. “I shouldn’t have forced you.”

He feels bad. I sense it. I don’t want him to feel bad. I want his smile back on. I tilt my head and let my cheek rest on the hand on my arm. It is good. He jumps a little at the touch but it works. I look up and the smile is back on his face. Good. I close my eyes again.

**\- VII -**

I am still wearing the same clothes I had back there. They’re some sort of pyjamas, a bit rough but comfortable. They’re a fading brown, the colour I got to like so much back there. But what is more important to me, is the smell they carry with them. They smell like _there_. And I need this smell. I need whatever takes me back there.

He has tried to make me take them off, several times, but I don’t want to. I desperately cling to them.

I need them to remember back there. To remember home. Because I realise as the days pass that I’m slowly starting to forget about it all. I forget what the irregular patterns of the ceiling looked like. Or the way the floor used to feel under my feet. And it feels wrong. I don’t want to forget about it. This is all I have.

It drives me crazy. I sometimes spend hours trying to remember little things from back there. Every time I remember a tiny bit of information, I repeat it over and over again in my head until I can’t forget about it anymore. But it is hard. My head seems almost overcrowded with pieces of information.

I surprisingly don’t stink. It’s probably due to whatever he does every morning. Some kind of a ritual, almost like a dance. He has this stick in his hand, and he makes it swirl in the air all the while muttering incomprehensible words at me. I know that’s what helps me get the sensation I’m clean. Since I refuse to wash, I guess there is no other option available for now.

I am content. It doesn’t quite feel like home in here, but it’s not too bad in the end. I thrive on the routines I have set up; I count over and over again in my head.

And then, there’s him.

And his smile. God, that smile! I can’t get tired of it, it makes me warm inside every single time. So I try to put it on his face as much as I can. I force myself to eat the odd things he brings to me. Some of them are juicy, others pretty sweet. It’s not always easy. My stomach hurts pretty often. It is still not used to such variety. It is used to yellowish mash and tasteless brownish soup. Sometimes my belly hurts so bad I am afraid I won’t make it to the bathroom. I flung myself in there, folded in two, arms clenched tightly around my sides, feeling incredibly dizzy. In the end, I manage to crumble on the seat, relieved, until the next time.

I’m starting to get used to the bathroom. I no longer get in there only to relieve myself, but start using the washbasin as well.

Like I did back there.

At first, it was a bit unsettling, because I didn’t need to count for the water to arrive. And there was no rickety noise in the pipes either. It upset me. A lot. But then I got used to it and now I really like the feeling of the water spraying on my face. I keep it cold. I know I could use hot water if I wanted to, but I can’t. It would be too strange, too foreign, so I stick to cold water.

I have a small white towel as well. I wasn’t using it at first, because it was hanging on the left-hand side of the washbasin. But then, one day that I was probably feeling braver, I decided to take it with my right hand and use it anyway. After that, I let it rest neatly folded on the right side of the washbasin all the time.

I never look in the mirror, though. I’m not sure I would like the reflection in it. I avoid it at all cost. Funny how I don’t even remember what I look like.

Sometimes I try to concentrate on the image of what I have been. But it all comes out in a blur.

Oh, well.

**\- VIII -**

He starts visiting me more often now. I like it. He seems to like it too. I usually first hear his footsteps on the stairs, and my body trembles in anticipation. I count to four and then I see the handle go down. I sit on my bed, my knees to my chest, my feet bare, and my arms around my legs.

He steps into the room and then sees only me. He always has half a second of worry on his face but it is soon replaced by a huge grin. He’s happy to see me. His smile always makes funny things to my body, like something inside of me suddenly starts to melt and courses all through it. It’s warm. And cosy. And comfortable. It almost feels like home. Almost.

He takes the wooden chair from the corner and sets it right next to my bed. He then sits down and starts talking. He talks about lots of things, but mostly about me. About us. We used to know each other before, he tells me. In another life. When I was somebody else. When I was Malfoy and he was Potter. That’s his name. Potter. Harry Potter. And mine is Malfoy apparently. Although Malfoy is always for the stories; at any other times he calls me Draco. I like the sound the two syllables make in his mouth. Dra-co. Something soft, like a promise.

So he tells me all about it. He tells me the stories of how we used to treat each other. There is a fondness in his voice although what he tells me is not always light and happy. I listen to him intently, my left cheek resting on my knees and my fingers drawing invisible patterns on the bedcovers. He tells me about other names too. Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, Blaise, Theo. Friends. My friends. I have no memory of any of them, of course, but it’s good to know that I once had friends.

He also tells me about darker things. How once upon a time, there was this awful guy who killed many innocent people. And he killed him. Harry killed the awful guy. It was hard, many people died, but he killed him. And I helped. I feel good knowing that I helped. Something inside of me glows at the knowledge that I helped.

Harry says that I made some bad choices before but that I had been misguided when I was young, and that’s why I had ended up there. I hate it when he talks about that. It makes him all sad, and I don’t want him to be sad. I want his smile. I _need_ his smile. And I don’t know why he tells me all that if it makes him all sad and angry.

**\- IX -**

“Ready?”

I nod. Finally, after weeks of refusal, I have got over my mind and decided it is time for me to take a bath. I am feeling much better, stronger, with all the good food I am now eating every day.

I am still not leaving my room though, I am way too scared of what might lie beyond its boundaries, but I am now wandering through it confidently, as if I have always fitted there. I still need to stroke my paper under the mattress every night, to check it is still there, but apart from that, everything that has belonged to my previous life starts fading away in a blur, and this dark green bedroom, along with its adjacent bathroom, is now definitely my new world.

Today is another big step. I know it, and Harry knows it too. We are both focused on succeeding. There is a slight tension in the air, and I am holding my breath. Will I be able to do it? I try not to think too much about what is to come, and remain concentrated on the present.

I first have to undress. And it is harder than I expected. These are the clothes I have been wearing for months, years even, and it is hard for me to part from them. I am standing next to the bed, my arms firmly clasped against my frail body. I know I have to do it, I know that this is important, but my brain can’t seem to be able to order my body to comply.

“That’s okay, Draco, you can do it.”

I close my eyes and count. When I have reached three-hundred-and-ten, I open them again.

“Ready?” he asks with a smile.

I nod.

“Right, you can take it off, now.”

I grab the hem of my pyjama top and slowly pull it up, revealing the pale skin underneath. I raise my arms up in the air and soon my vision is blocked by the fabric and my hands get stuck in the fabric and-

“You’re doing great, keep going,” he says and I let out a breath at the sound of his voice. I finally manage to remove the top completely and here I stand, naked to the waist.

He lets out a soft gasp and takes a step back and I am afraid for a second that I have scared him out. That my body is so ugly he only wishes to run away from it and hide.

“You’re… God, you’re- you’re beautiful,” he murmurs as his eyes roam over my chest. “Skinny, Merlin, very skinny, but incredibly beautiful.”

I then proceed to remove the rest. I tuck my fingers in the elastic waistband of my trousers, and slowly shove them down. I struggle with the heels so he crouches and helps me lift first my right foot, then my left one, so that I can get out of them easily.

I remove my underwear and soon I am completely naked.

He gently takes my hand to lead me to the bathroom. He checks the temperature of the water, and winces. He murmurs something, holding the stick in his hand, and the water moves about before stilling again.

I know a little bit more about those things he does with his stick. A wand, he calls it. He tells me about magic, and how he and I are both wizards. It is funny. I had no idea. He explains to me that years and years of seclusion may have caused my magic to go away, but that it might come back one day. He shows me some basic tricks. Like how to lift small objects in the air to move them around. Or how to open and close the curtains from a distance. I must admit it seems pretty handy, and the thought of being able to do things like that one day appeals to me.

But now I have to focus on the bath and the hot water in it. I can do it, I know it. I just have to push myself a little. I have managed to overcome so many obstacles in the past few weeks that I feel confident I will succeed today as well.

He grabs my arm to steady me and helps me raise my right leg. When my toes come in contact with the water, I hastily take my foot out, losing my balance and nearly making us both fall on the ground. He manages to steady me again though, and after telling me encouraging and comforting words, I take a deep breath, count to fifteen, and try again.

This time I am more prepared and don’t stop when the water touches my toes. I wriggle them in it for a while before letting my whole foot in. I sink it deeper and finally reach the bottom. I rest my foot flat on it. I have to shift my weight to be able to put my other foot in and once again, Harry helps me stabilise. I soon find myself standing in the bathtub.

“Well done, Draco!” he says, a proud expression on his face that fills me with joy. “Now bend your knees slowly, and try to sit down. Be careful, the heat of the water might surprise you, but you can do it.” Thanks to his words of encouragement, I manage to kneel completely in the bathtub.

What I am feeling at that moment is beyond words. Just brilliant. The soft caress of the water on my skin is amazing. So relaxing. It is as if a whole new world has just opened to me. I close my eyes and focus on the sensations. I am clenching the edges of the bathtub tight, but slowly feel my fingers relax. I count in my head.

“Here is the sponge,” he says, showing me a brown mushy thing. “You can use it to wash yourself.”

I take it and let out a long breath at the touch of the sponge and the delicate scent of soap. I run it slowly on every single inch of my body, revelling in its gentle touch on my skin.

It’s good. It’s very good. It’s so good that my body reacts in an unexpected way. Harry notices it at the same time as I do and his face suddenly turns deep red, a huge flush creeping up from his neck. He clears his throat and diverts his eyes.

I take another look between my legs. I am definitely aroused. It’s a very weird feeling, perhaps the weirdest of all. It is something I have absolutely not felt for years and years. Back there, it never happened. Never, ever. And before? Well, I can hardly remember the before, so...

I soak in there for a while, and then Harry tells me it is time to get out. I would have stayed a bit longer, but that’s fine. I have loved it. My very first bath in years. I hope it won’t be the last and that I will be able to take more in the very near future.

**\- X -**

No!

No, no, no, no, no, NO!

It’s hot. Too hot. It’s burning. And it’s coming closer. Quick. Go away. Somewhere. Anywhere. Escape. No! Not this way! NO!

Oh no, Goyle! Crabbe! It’s coming closer! Quick! Come on!

Can’t stop it! Too hot! I’m going to die.

I don’t want to die. Crabbe! NO!

Please don’t let me die.

Harry.

HARRY!

Come, Harry! Rescue me, Harry!

Please, come!

HARRY! RESCUE ME!

**\- XI -**

I open my eyes, but they don’t meet the now familiar white and smooth ceiling. Instead, my right eye has difficulties in focusing and I feel something soft and hard at the same time under my cheek.

I slowly try to lift my head, but it bangs into something above and it makes a muffle sound. It hurts.

I am trapped. I feel panic slowly rise inside of me. The surroundings look familiar, and yet, they are different. What happened?

A familiar sound. Steps. I count to four. The door opens. Harry. I let out a breath of relief. Harry! I close my eyes.

“Draco?” he sounds worried. “Oh my God, DRACO?” I open my eyes again and see him run to the bathroom. I can see his feet from the floor and it looks funny. A small laugh escapes me.

“Draco?” he asks again, moving around very slowly. “Draco, where are you?”

His feet disappear for a second and are replaced by his hands and face. Our eyes meet.

“Thank Merlin, you’re here!” he smiles, looking relieved. “What are you doing here?” he murmurs, but doesn’t move. He lies down and we face each other. It feels good to be like that. Safe.

He holds out his hand and I stare at it for a while. Then I hold out mine, and our fingers touch. I close my eyes and let the warmth of his hand flow through my limbs.

He came.

Harry came.

Harry came to rescue me. 

  
_**Two** _

_**** _

**\- HARRY -**

**\- I -**

_December 2002_  
He’s had a nightmare.

It’s not surprising in itself, in fact, I expected it to happen earlier. And maybe it’s a good sign after all, a sign that he’s slowly starting to reconnect with his previous life.

I got really worried though, when I couldn’t find him in his bed. I feared he might have hurt himself, or tried to run away. In the end, he just went to hide under his bed, like a scared kid.

**\- II -**

“No!”

“No! No! No!”

I’m instantly awake, and I jump from my bed and rush to the next bedroom without thinking.

He needs me.

I open the door and murmur, “ _Lumos_ ”. He is writhing on his bed, eyes shut tight, his body covered in sweat.

“Harry!”

It’s the first time I hear him call my name since he’s landed here. And the second time he utters a word out loud in my presence. A shiver run down my spine at the desperate tone. I’m by his bed in a flash. I stroke his hair and try to gently bring him back to consciousness.

“Draco, that’s okay. I’m here; you’re safe now.”

He opens his eyes and his gaze falls on me.

“Harry…”

“Yes, it’s me,” I say, smiling. “It’s me, you’re okay.”

“Harry.” His face relaxes, his body goes slack and he releases his grip on the bed. I quickly conjure a bowl of water and wipe his face with a flannel to appease him. He brings his hand to my face, touches me as if checking I am real. His fingers underline every feature of my face, leaving invisible trails on my skin, and raising goose bumps all over my body.

“Harry?”

“Yes, Draco, I’m here now.”

He closes his eyes and a soft smile forms on his lips.

“Harry…” he murmurs again, and instantaneously falls back asleep.

I let out a breath of relief.

**\- III -**

“How is he?”

I choose my words carefully. Hermione Granger is not one to be easily fooled.

“Well, he’s making progress. I managed to give him a bath the other day without him freaking out, and he called my name last night, so yeah, I think he’s getting better.”

As usual, Hermione’s sharp gaze shows she’s not buying my feeble attempts to reassure her about Draco's true state of mind. She sips her tea, comfortably installed in my sofa and I can almost see the cogs working in her head as she drinks.

“Is he sleeping right now?”

I nod.

“He does sleep a lot, doesn’t he?”

“Well, I do too.”

“And that’s supposed to be a good thing?” she says, raising an eyebrow.

I choose not to answer that. “After all Draco’s been through over the last few years, I don’t find it shocking he needs to sleep more than he normally would. It’s probably a reaction to the… seclusion.”

“Harry,” she says, and I know the look on her face too well.

“Listen, he’s just spent three years in isolation in this fucking horrible place, and… I don’t know anything, Hermione, all right? I just-” I raise my hand to explain but let it fall back on the armrest with a huff. “All I know is that he was kept in there longer than he should have been.”

“Have you asked Ron about it?”

“About Azkaban?”

“About what exactly happened to him there.”

“No.” I play with a loose thread from the armrest that I suddenly find very interesting.

“He’s not the enemy, you know.”

I snap my head up. “What? Of course not, I know that.”

“It’s not because you’ve left the Aurors and he hasn’t that you can’t- He’s not a different man.”

“He’s changed though. For good, I mean, he’s more…”

“Confident?” She smiles before taking a sip from her tea.

I smile back. “Yes. And I’m happy for him, for the two of you, I really am. I’m glad you’ve both found something you’re really passionate about.”

“Yes, it’s a nice feeling.”

“Yeah, must be.” Her eyes meet mine and the tacit question hangs up in the air.

She runs her fingers over the rim of her steaming mug of tea. “Are you… You don’t regret it, don’t you?”

“What, leaving the Aurors?”

She nods.

“Hell, no. I just- It wasn’t for me, you know? Too much paperwork, not enough action-”

“Too many rules to follow?” She smiles.

I stick out my tongue. “That, too.”

“Although if Ron’s managed it…” she chuckles.

“True.” I smile back and drink some more tea. I always love the feeling of the hot liquid running down my throat.

“Any news from McGonagall, then?”

“Not since the last time.” I had hardly handed in my resignation letter to Kingsley that McGonagall had offered me the Defence Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts.

“She did say it was an open offer and that should you be willing to-”

“I know. It’s just- I’m no teacher, Hermione, you know that.”

“You are! Look how good you were in the DA!”

“But it was just a kids’ organisation that we formed because we had no other choice, nothing more. And we were at war! I’m sure McGonagall can find much better qualified people than me to do it.”

“Of course she can,” Hermione says softly. “But for some reason, it’s you that she wants.”

“Well, it’s not- It’s not in my immediate plans anyway.” But then nothing these days is part of my plans. Nothing feels interesting enough, nothing seems worth the trouble. There’s no point telling Hermione this, though.

“Right, but you should keep that in mind, you know?”

“I will,” I say, anxious for her to drop the subject.

“Now, about Draco. I know you don’t want me to go and see him-”

“No, I mean, it’s not- It’s not that, it’s just-” I pull a little bit too hard on the loose thread and it breaks between my fingers. I drop it to the floor. “He’s not well enough for that right now, I mean, he already freaks out about everything and I just don’t want him to be destabilised by anything else right now. It’s complicated enough as it is.”

“Of course it is. And that’s why I think-”

I roll my eyes.

“Harry!”

“Yes, I know, I should get help.”

“Yes. You definitely should.”

“But I’m taking good care of him! He’s making progress!”

“Yes, you are. I know you’re doing a great job with him, and he’s very lucky that you came and took him out of that horrible place. But it’s just- It’s not your job, you know? You can’t- God, you can’t do this on your own. Harry, you’ve said it yourself, his situation is very complicated and you won’t even let me, or anybody else, just- even just see him.”

I open my mouth to answer but she raises her hand to prevent me from butting in.

“I know you don’t want to take him to St Mungo’s.”

“True. I don’t trust that just anybody will treat him the way he needs to be treated, and I don’t want to make him worse than he already is.”

“Right. But what if I ask a Healer to come over here and see him?”

“Why? Here?”

“Yes, here. You could have someone examine him at least. Do a basic check-up? To make sure everything’s all right.”

I frown. “But why-”

“Because I don’t know a thing about what prolonged imprisonment does to people, but certainly there must be some things we don’t know about it and should be prepared for.”

She’s right. I hate that she’s right.

“It’s Azkaban, Harry.”

“And?” I fiddle with the tiny bit of thread that remains attached to the armrest. It’s much shorter now.

“Well, I don’t have any idea of how things are over there now that the war is over, honestly. But I wouldn’t be surprised… I mean, I know the Dementors are gone but what about-” She shakes her head.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just- Nothing.”

“What is it, Hermione?”

She looks at me intently. “I don’t know, I just- Have you ever wondered how they do it?”

My fingers freeze and I look up at her. “Do what?”

“How they manage to keep the prisoners, I don’t know, _obedient_ now they don’t have Dementors to do that.”

“Well, I guess it works like a regular Muggle prison, right? I mean, the wizards and witches imprisoned here are wandless anyway so…” I trail off.

“Wizards don’t necessarily need a wand to produce magic.”

I sit back in my chair. “I know.”

She smiles. “Of course you do.”

“So you mean-”

“I mean nothing, Harry. Honestly, I don’t know.”

“What about Ron? Would he know about it?”

“Maybe. You should ask him.”

“Yeah, I will.” God yes, I will. How come I have never even thought about that?

Hermione leans forward to set the empty mug on the coffee table in front of her and reaches across the sofa to take my hand in hers, before looking deep into my eyes again.

“I really think you shouldn’t do this on your own, Harry.” She shakes her head to prevent me from stepping in at that point. “Like I said, you’re no professional healer, you can’t- people who have been through what he has need to be treated professionally.”

I flatten the tiny bit of red thread on the armrest, pressing it against the fabric with my finger a few times. “I’ll think about it.”

“You will?”

“Yes.” I sigh.

She lets go of my hand and stands up. “Good. It’s- Good.” She grabs her coat and puts it on. “Come here.” She takes me into a hug.

I hold her tight and feel her bushy hair tickling my face as I close my eyes. It’s good to know that despite everything, Ron and Hermione are still by my side, even after all these years, even after all we’ve been through.

She breaks the embrace and takes my face in her hands. “I know you, Harry James Potter, and I know what you’re trying to do, and I can’t say I really like it. But I also trust you, so just… be careful, okay?”

“Okay,” I smile and soon she’s gone.

**\- IV -**

“Harry!”

“HARRY!”

I’m by his side in an instant. I don’t know if my sleep has adapted to Draco's disrupted cycle, like a mother with her infant child, but I seem to be able to get out of unconsciousness quicker every time.

Another nightmare. The third in a row. Like the night before, I wipe his sweaty face with the damp flannel, and his features soften as he slowly comes back to himself.

“What happened, Draco? In your dream? What happened?” I ask him, knowing very well he won’t answer me. But I always try.

He touches my face again, but this time, it’s more of a caress, a gesture of comfort, as if I were the one in need of reassurance. I close my eyes.

“Harry…”  
I love the sound of my name in his mouth. It’s so pure, and sincere, and I know when he pronounces it that I’m only Harry in his eyes, not Harry Potter the Saviour-of-the-Wizarding-World, Harry Potter the hero, or any other bullshit of that kind. His warm breath hovers over my face and it’s weirdly soothing. I open my eyes and his gaze is intense on me. The depth of his look on me makes me shiver.  
I remove the silky blond hair from his forehead and on an impulse, place a light kiss on it. His skin is soft under my lips and I linger on it a tiny bit more than necessary. As I pull back, Draco's face is completely relaxed, and something else warms my insides.

A beautiful, sincere, large smile.

**\- V -**

“All right, Draco, are you ready?”

He’s standing next to me at the foot of his bed, and stares at me for a while before diverting his gaze to the door. I know this is not going to be easy, that I have to take things slow, but I remember what happened with the whole bath experience, and I think it’s definitely worth it.

I take his hand in mine, and hear him gasp at the touch. He squeezes my hand back.

“Okay. Now just follow my lead. I’m going to take you to the door, you think you can do that?” I hold my breath and wait for his answer.

His nod is hesitant, but it’s there. Right.

I take the first step, very slowly, but he doesn’t move. His eyes are planted firmly on the door.

“Draco? That’s okay, you can do it!” I smile to encourage him, but all his attention is focused on the open door leading to the landing and the stairs.  
I try to take another small step, and feel him tense again. There’s resistance in his arm and he doesn’t move at all. It’s like his feet are glued to the floor. He knows where I want to take him, he knows I want him to eventually leave the room – I told him so, I had no reason to hide it from him – but maybe this is too fast too soon. The mere five feet leading to the door are too big a step for him right now.

I sigh and he looks at me, eyes widening by the second. I feel him tremble, slightly at first.

“Hey, Draco, that’s okay, you don’t have to-”

He takes short, quick breaths, and the trembling increases.

“Draco?” I let go of his hand and move in front of him. “That’s okay, we can- we don’t have to do anything right now, okay? Draco?” I try my best to keep my voice even and calm.

A bead of sweat slowly rolls down his temple, and I place my hands on his cheeks, in a desperate attempt to make him look at me. “It’s okay, Draco, we won’t- we won’t do it now, I promise, you’re going to be fine. Look, I’m going to take you to your bed, is that all right?”

I murmur an almost inaudible “ _Relaxere_ ,” and sure enough, there’s a shift in his body and the trembling diminishes. I take his hand again and turn to show him I’m taking the direction of the bed and not the door. He hesitates, but I finally feel him move before he follows me back to the bed.

I make him sit on it, and Summon the flannel that’s now always by the bed with a bowl of clean water. I keep my hand in his at all times. It’s important not to break the physical contact. I gently press the flannel on his forehead and it seems to soothe him further. He closes his eyes, and I know we’ve been through the worst.

“That’s it,” I whisper.

I coax him to lie down with a soft pressure of my hand on his shoulder, and he lets me, his long legs soon following. He is now resting relatively still. His breathing has calmed down, even if his chest still moves up and down rapidly.

I try to let go of his hand, but he doesn’t let me. I try again, wanting to make sure, but the second time is the same.

His grey eyes are fixed on me, and there’s something akin to pleading in them that makes my heart clench a little. He tugs at my hand this time, bringing me closer to him.

“You want me to come with you?” I ask, needing to be sure before doing anything. “On the bed?”

He nods.

“Okay.” I kneel on the mattress, never breaking eye contact, making sure he’s definitely okay with this, that this is what he really expects me to do. I then lie down next to him, and we stay like that on his bed, still holding hands. His breathing slows down, and he falls asleep within minutes.

I stay like that for a while, listening to his soft, regular breathing, watching his peaceful face as he sleeps.

**\- VI -**

Ron is waiting for me in the kitchen as I go down the stairs the following day. Of course, it’s Tuesday again.

I open a couple of Butterbeers and make a couple of sandwiches with whatever I find in the cooling cupboard. I like these moments spent in my best friend’s company. I know he’s incredibly busy but he always manages to make time to have lunch with me on Tuesdays. It’s our routine. We talk a little bit about his work, about how yesterday he had to check an ex-Death Eater’s safe house. He describes the complicated spells that were meant to trap and injure whoever was crazy enough to search the house and how he got rid of them, all in an animated voice in between mouthfuls of tuna sandwich.

I don’t envy him one second. I never regretted quitting the Aurors after the war and don’t today either. I know it is what had been expected of me – that and so many other things I have also disappointed people about – and I know my decision created a shockwave at the time, but I don’t regret it one second.

When Ron finishes talking about his job, a comfortable silence settles between us as he gulps down his Butterbeer. He lets out a loud puff when he’s done and wipes the beer from his mouth with his sleeve.

“How is he?” he asks, gesturing to the ceiling.

“He’s fine.”

Ron takes an enormous bite from his sandwich. I’m always afraid he’s going to choke on his food.

“I tried to have him leave his room yesterday.” I remove a long strip of paper from the bottle before crumpling it in my fingers and throwing it away across the table where it lands next to Ron’s plate. “Didn’t work.”

“What happened?”

“He freaked out. Panic attack. I had to cast a relaxing spell for him to calm down.”

“Blimey.”

“Yeah.” I take a sip from my Butterbeer before setting it back down on the table where it lands with a thud.

Ron looks fixedly at me.

“What?” I say.

“You never tell me. How bad it is. I don’t- Every time I ask you, you just brush it all off or change the subject.”

“I didn’t know you cared.”

His cheeks colour a little. “Come on, mate. You know I-”

“Yes, I know.”

“So why won’t you tell us? Me and Hermione? He’s been with you for what, six weeks?”

“Nine.”

“Merlin, nine weeks already?”

“Yeah.” It feels like yesterday that Draco barged in back into my life.

“Well, he’s been with you that long, and the other day I couldn’t tell Ginny what exactly Malfoy’s problems were.”

“Ginny was here?”

“Yeah, came back home over the weekend. Says hi, by the way.” He takes a sip from his Butterbeer and another giant bite from his sandwich.

“Are things going okay for her?” I can’t help asking. “She okay?”

“Oh yes,” Ron says, his mouth full once again. “She’s great. Has a new boyfriend. Tall guy, Chaser. Chester. American.”

“That’s great,” I say, rinsing my mouth with Butterbeer, letting the cold liquid wash down the rest of the food. “I’m happy for her. She deserves it.”

“She does, yeah.”

I really am happy for Ginny. After all we’ve been through, she really does deserve happiness. She deserves _Chester_. I often think of her and all that could have been but never was. How our lives could have been different, so dramatically different. I know now that we were not meant to be together. But some small part of me will always mourn the family I’ll never have with her.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say, pushing Ginny away from my mind.

“Oh fuck, no,” Ron says, rolling his eyes.

I can’t help smiling.

“Is it ferrety-git related?”

I shrug and he rolls his eyes again. “Why am I even asking.”

I open my mouth to speak but Ron raises a hand. “The answer’s no.”

“Oh?”

Ron flicks the crumpled label I’d sent across the table with his finger and it rolls all the way back to me again.

“I don’t have it yet. I told you it’d be complicated. Death Eaters’ files belong to the Unspeakables. It’s possible for regular Aurors just like me to retrieve them, but it’s one hell of a long procedure.”

“But still, I’ve asked you ages ago!”

“What did you expect? Did you really think I could just walk into the Department of Mysteries and have them give it to me?”

“Well, yeah?”

“I’ll get my hands on it,” he says again. “Trust me.”

“I do. It’s just-” I run my hand in my hair, making a mess out of it. More so than usual anyway; I can feel some strands fall immediately back on my head.

“God, you should’ve seen him yesterday, he was so…” I take another sip of my Butterbeer as pictures of a panicking Draco flash inside me. I shake my head. “I just want to know who’s responsible for this mess. I want to know why Draco Malfoy, who had been sentenced to one year in Azkaban the last I had heard, ended up in isolation – not regular imprisonment, Ron, bloody isolation – for not one, but three years, and probably would still be rotting there as we speak had I not come and got him.” My finger aches slightly from my stabbing the table with it.

“Of course, mate.”

“Also I want to know what happened while he was there. If he received any _treatment_ of any kind, you know what I mean?” Because Hermione’s words have never really left me since the other day.

“Yes, I know. And I promise I’ll do my best to give you the answers to all of that.”

“Right.” Ron looks fixedly at me for a while. “What?”

“Is he- Is he really that bad? I mean, I try to picture what’s going on with him in my head, from what you tell us, but it’s never… I mean, what’s wrong with him precisely?”

I take a deep breath. It’s not easy. Ron’s right. I’ve never really wanted to tell them how bad Draco really is, because I was afraid - still am - that they’d somehow try to make me send him to St Mungo’s or somewhere else. But then, Draco’s been here for a while now, and well, Ron is my best friend.

“He’s- you wouldn’t recognise him. He’s a shadow of his old self. He doesn’t speak – the only words he pronounces after weeks of staying here are ‘no,’ and ‘Harry.’ He only leaves his bed to go to the bathroom.”

He flinches a little at my words but doesn’t say anything.

“I had to wait a whole five weeks for him to actually not freak out to take a bath and about the same amount of time to have him eat a sandwich, Ron, a bloody sandwich!”

There’s no stopping me now. It’s as if a dam has broken and every single thing I have kept buried deep inside for the past few weeks suddenly pour out of me.

“He has nightmares every single night, and spends most of his days sleeping.” My voice drops a little. “I know he’s only still Malfoy to you, but no one, and I mean it, absolutely no one deserves what’s happened to him. He’s broken beyond repair. He might-” My voice strangles in my throat but I clear it. “He might never be the same again ever. So that’s why I want to know what’s happened exactly, why it happened and who’s responsible for it.”

Ron blinks a couple of times as I hold my breath. A dog barks in the distance and a couple of people pass the house, their voices loud and clear before they drown away.

“You gave Malfoy a _bath_?”

A laugh escapes me as I shake my head again. “You’re unbelievable.”

His mouth curls up in a smile. “Can’t help it, mate.” He grabs a second sandwich and takes another of his giant bites. “I suppose you couldn’t help yourself?” he says, his mouth full. “Save him.”

“No.” The word sprouted out of me. “I mean, what was I supposed to do? Leave him to rot in there?” Ron shrugs and I look fixedly at him. “I couldn’t.”

“No, I suppose not. I mean, not after saving his sorry arse from the fire and all that.”

“Yeah.”

Ron’s right of course. I have a rather impressive track record of saving Draco Malfoy, be it from death - twice in the same day - or from imprisonment. Funny how if you stop and think about it for a moment it seems like a lot I have done in my life has had something to do with Draco. As if somehow, against all odds, our fates were intertwined. No one else has ever managed to touch me like Draco did, like he still does. There’s always been something about him, about us, that set him apart from everybody else.

“So is there…” Ron says, breaking my train of thoughts. “Is there anything between…” He gestures towards the ceiling again.

I can feel myself blushing at his words. “No! No- God, no, of course not.”

Ron frowns. “Really?”

“No, he’s way too- It wouldn’t be- it wouldn’t be right, I mean, he’s not really… himself right now, you know?”

He stares at me, his eyes slightly narrowed as they roam over my face before settling in mine again. “Sure, yeah.”

He fiddles with his empty bottle now, sliding it back and forth between his hands. “But if he- I mean, if he gets better, someday? Do you- Do you think you would- I mean, that there-”

“Would that be a problem for you?” I cut in.

“Well, he’s _Malfoy_.” Ron shrugs “But I guess if he’s- well, if he’s not the prat he used to be, well.”

I can’t help smiling at him. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

“You know what you’re doing, then?”

“I- Yes, I think so.”

“And nothing I could say would prevent you from doing what you want anyway, right?”

I smile again, wider this time. “No, probably not.”

“I thought not.” He sighs before taking a sip from his Butterbeer.

“Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

He rolls his eyes again. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

**\- VII -**

My nights are definitely punctuated by his nightmares now, and I’m so exhausted that I seriously consider giving him some Dreamless Sleep Potion to be able to sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time. But then I remember I don’t have any left at home. Hermione threw the last batch I had down the sink months ago after lecturing me on the fact that taking so many potions wasn’t good for my health.

So after a week of going back and forth from my bedroom to his, on a particularly difficult night where Draco had screamed his lungs out – thank God for Silencing Charms – I do something I probably wouldn’t have done if I hadn’t been so sleep-deprived.

I stroke his hair. “Shhh, that’s okay, Draco, you’re going to be fine.”

But there’s nothing to do tonight, his eyes are still filled with some blank terror I’ve not yet experienced, and I feel utterly helpless all of a sudden.

“Oh, fuck it.”

Without thinking, I crawl under the covers with him and take him carefully in my arms. He tenses a bit at first, but then leans in the crook of my arm, and I feel him relax as I caress his head and his warm breath brushes my neck, making me shiver.

His body is warm, and it’s weird for me to be lying in bed with someone. My skin burns at his contact. It hasn’t happened to me in months, and I realise how much I miss being physically close to another person.

He sighs, a deep, long sigh and soon his breathing returns to normal as I keep stroking his hair, his incredibly beautiful, soft hair and we slowly drift off to sleep, so close together. At this precise moment, as I’m not completely asleep but not fully awake either, I realise how much he means to me and how as crazy as it sounds, I can no longer imagine a life without him.

**\- VIII -**

After that, I only go to my bedroom to get dressed. I try not to think of what it really means that I actually sleep in Draco's bed every night, snuggled very close to him, nor am I going to dwell on the fact that I have not slept so well in months, probably in years. Or the fact that Draco's nightmares have also considerably diminished since that first night spent together. No, I’m certainly not going to tell Hermione any of that as she’s sitting on my sofa, sipping on her tea. I’m not sure she would understand.

“I think I’ve found the perfect Healer for Draco,” she says out of the blue.

“Oh?”

“Yes, she’s- I think she’s going to be great for him.”

I look at her, wondering how we’ve gone from my ‘I’ll think about it’ to her ‘I found the perfect Healer’ in the matter of days.

“Did you tell her who she’d be treating?”

“Of course I did.”

Something in the way she rushes to answer makes me suspicious.

“How many Healers did you go to before finding her?”

She sighs. “Seven.”

“Seven…” I lean back in my armchair. “Let me guess: they were very willing to help you up to the point you had to tell them who they’d have to look after, am I right?”

“Harry…”

“Just- just answer me, Hermione, please.”

“Well, they-” she pauses. “Yes, they all backed out after I told them the patient was Draco Malfoy.”

“Great.”

I knew it. It’s not as if all of this was news to me. Despite the official discourse, despite all the speeches on equality, starting afresh, cleaning the slate and all the other bullshit people have been fed after the war, reality is way different. I don’t blame Kingsley, I honestly don’t. It’s his job, as the Minister, to keep his people together. But aren’t Healers supposed to give their best care to the patient in front of them no matter what?

“Harry?”

“Yeah…”

“Harry, you know how-”

“I know, Hermione,” I cut her. “Just- tell me about this Healer, please.”

“She’s great,” she says, smiling. “She’s just going to be perfect. She’s- I’ve seen her work with patients and she really is amazing. But you’ll see for yourself, I told her to come and visit you tomorrow.”

“You did what? But I haven’t even agreed on the whole thing yet!”

“Do you want me to cancel her then?” she asks innocently.

“No. That’s- that’s fine, I’ll meet her tomorrow.”

“Good. Just talk to her, and if you don’t think she’ll be good for Draco, I’ll try someone else, okay?”

“Fine. And… thank you, for everything.”

“You’re very welcome, Harry.”

**\- IX -**

Hermione was right.

Anna is just perfect for us. As soon as I laid my eyes on her, I immediately liked her.

She’s in her early thirties, rather pretty without being an absolute beauty. She’s dressed casually, wearing jeans and boots, along with a simple white jumper. A long necklace with a couple of metallic feathers and a black skull at the very end bring a fancy touch to the ensemble.

But what makes all the difference, and what strikes me first as she stumbles from my fireplace is the huge smile that’s spread across her face. The kind of smile that makes you believe for an instant that you’re the absolute most important person in her world.

“Very happy to meet you, Mr Potter,” she says in a soft voice, holding out her hand, and I’m surprised to find a tiny bit of accent. It’s very discreet, but it’s there. Spanish, maybe.

“Please call me Harry,” I smile and invite her to sit on the sofa. “I’ve made some tea, but I can also make coffee if you prefer.”

“Tea’s great, thanks.”

She makes herself comfortable, removing the scarf from her neck and crossing her legs, taking in the environment – my living room – and as I’m fetching the two mugs, I can’t help wondering when was the last time I ever had anyone apart from Ron and Hermione sit on my couch. I can’t really remember. All I know is that it wasn’t this year, and probably not the one before either.

I come back with the two steaming mugs of tea and hand her one, before settling in my armchair, facing her.

“Thank you so much for agreeing to come here today,” I say.

“My pleasure, Harry. I’m very happy to be here. Hermione’s talked about you a lot.”

“Oh, I’m sure she has.” I smile, slightly worried as to what my best friend could have told Anna about me. “So,” I say, wishing to change the subject. “What do you know about the, er, situation?”

Anna removes a strand of hair from her forehead. “Hermione told me you needed a Healer to look after your friend.”

_Friend._

“But she wasn’t really specific about him.”

“What do you know?”

She tilts her head slightly on the side, a serious look on her face, gauging me. “I know he’s just out of Azkaban.”

“That’s right. He’s spent three years there.”

“How long has he been with you?”

“Draco arrived here a couple of months ago.”

“And what’s happened with the Healer who worked with him before?”

I run my finger over the rim of the mug, staring into Anna’s eyes. “There was no Healer. You’re the first one.”

She frowns. “You mean you’ve been taking care of him on your own?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, that must have been-”

“It was.”

She smiles and her face brightens up at once. “Tell me about him.”

“Have you… Do you know anything about him?”

“No. You see, I’ve only been here for a year.”

“Oh, where are you from?”

“Portugal.” Close enough.

“Must be a change.” I smile.

“It is. But I like it here. It’s very charming.”

“Yes, it’s not too bad.” I bring the mug to my lips. “So have you heard about Draco and his family or-”

“Not really, no.”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath. ”Draco and I, we have a bit of history. We met when we were eleven at school and well, let’s say we weren’t friends at all back then. Rather the contrary.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, we- We hated each other. We used to fight all the time. He was a pain in the arse for the six years I’ve spent at school with him, and I guess I wasn’t much better around him. And then…” I take another sip of my tea, allowing me time to gather my thoughts and choose my words carefully. “And then the war happened. Draco, he- We weren’t on the same side.”

She nods, encouraging me to go on.

“His father was a Death Eater and he was very close to Voldemort.”

A quick flash of surprise crosses her face but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she brings her mug to her lips.

Here it comes. The moment of truth.

“Draco was only sixteen when Voldemort decided to turn his home into his headquarters. He…” It’s a make or break situation from now on. Anna could just leave and refuse to take care of Draco after that. “He took the Mark too.”

“You mean-”

“He was a Death Eater, yes.”

She narrows her eyes a little and seems to think hard about what I’ve just told her. But somehow-

“You don’t look very surprised.”

She smiles. “No, I’m not, not really. I mean, I suspected it when I saw how the other Healers reacted when I told them I was asked to take care of him.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” I feel my hands getting moist against the warm mug. “Do you mind treating someone like him?”

She smiles again and her whole face brightens. “No, it doesn’t matter to me. I’m not here to judge anyone for anything they might have done in the past. I’m a Healer. My job is to take care of people who have been hurt badly and help them recover. The rest is only relevant if any of it can help my patients in any case. Otherwise I don’t care. I’m no judge; I’m no Auror; thank God, I’m no Minister for Magic; I’m just a Healer. So no, Harry, I don’t care about Draco's past. I’m more interested in his present and his future.”

I can’t help smiling back at her words. “Thank you, Anna, it means a lot to me, you have no idea,” I say, letting out a breath of relief.

“So tell me. Why do you need me exactly?” Anna discards her empty mug on the coffee table, leans back in the sofa and folds her arms across her chest.

I tell Anna everything there is to know about Draco and our daily life. I don’t hold anything back. I speak about his OCD, the fact he doesn’t speak, the nightmares, his magic, everything. She doesn’t interrupt, she just nods and listens and it’s perfect.

I think I had not realised until then how much I needed to speak to someone about all this. I mean, of course I tell Ron and Hermione bits and pieces of what is going on with Draco and even though I somehow opened up to Ron the other day, I never go into too much detail. I’m always afraid either of them would lecture me, or tell me I shouldn’t take care of him like I do so I don’t tell them much in the end. With Anna, it’s different. It’s the first time I feel free to speak about him like that. So I spill everything and it’s liberating.

“I can’t believe you were on your own all this time,” she mutters, and I wonder if she’s speaking to me or to herself.

“Yes, well.” I shrug.

“That’s very brave.”

Well, things are more complicated than she probably thinks, but she doesn’t have to know that right now.

“You said he’s spent three years in Azkaban, right?” Anna says.

I nod. “In isolation.”

“Isolation?” The look of surprise on her face sends a sudden shiver down my spine.

“Yes,” I say, my fingers tightening on the mug. “He wasn’t in a regular cell like other convicts, he was put straight away in solitary confinement. Basically, he was left alone in his cell twenty-three hours a day.”

Her eyes widen. “He’s really spent three years in isolation?”

“Yes,” my voice is barely a whisper at that point, as I see her face lose its colour.

She quickly regains composure though. “Well, no wonder he’s been traumatised.”

“Indeed.” I take a last gulp of my tepid tea and discard the empty mug on the coffee table before standing up. “Right. Do you want to go and see him now?”

She stands up as well. “Of course. Show me the way.”

**\- X -**

I enter the room and Draco is already sitting on his bed, looking at the door. I like the way he seems to always know when I arrive.

“Hey, How are you?” I say, sitting on the bed next to him.

He looks up at me and smiles.

“Listen, you remember I told you that someone was going to come and visit you this morning?”

He reaches for my face and runs the tips of his fingers on my forehead, tracing the lines of my eyebrows, then down my nose and my cheeks.

I take his hand away from my face, keeping it in mine.

“Draco, Anna is here, and she’d really like to meet you. Is it okay if I invite her in?”

He bites his lips and tightens his hold on my hand before giving a small nod.

I smile at him, placing a strand of hair behind his ear. “All right, then, I’ll go and get her.”

I try to stand up, but Draco doesn’t let go of my hand. “You don’t- You don’t want me to leave you right now?”

He shakes his head. Right.

“Er, Anna?” I call from the bed. Thankfully, I had not shut the door completely.

“Yes?”

“I think Draco’s ready to meet you.”

“Oh, all right. I’m coming in, then.”

She pushes the door carefully, and slowly comes in. Once inside, she remains by the door.

“Good morning, Draco, I’m Anna.”

Draco wraps his arms around my waist and snuggles up against me. He’s become quite the touchy-feely kind since we’ve been sleeping and cuddling together at night. I can’t say I don’t like it; I’m so used to his touch that I don’t think of what it might look like to other people. Although nobody ever comes around here so I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway.

“Draco?” He looks up at me. “Anna is going to sit on the chair by the bed, is that okay with you?”

He tightens his hold on me but nods nonetheless.

Anna slowly covers the distance between the door and the chair, and sits down. Draco doesn’t look at her.

“Draco, I’m a Healer, and Harry has asked me to come and take care of you.”

He turns his head to look at me, searching my face for confirmation.

“Yes. Anna is here to help.”

He nods and I bring him closer to me.

Anna then explains why she’s here and how she wants to help, and at first Draco refuses to acknowledge her presence. He clings to me and his body is tense; he’s on his guard. It must be hard for him to see someone new after all this time. But Anna knows her job, and she’s amazing with him.

Little by little, she manages to reach him, to get through to him and to capture his attention. It takes time, but in the end, Draco is relaxed in her company and he even smiles back at her a couple of times. I think he’s succumbed to her charm, just like I did.

“Right, now if that’s okay with you, Draco, I’d like to perform a few tests. Are you familiar with wands?”

Draco frowns and turns to me.

“He is,” I say. “I use mine around him.”

“Good.”

She gets Draco to lie down on the bed and she performs a variety of spells I’ve never heard about as I sit on the chair, his hand in mine at all times.

Anna remains quiet as she runs her wand up and down his body and Draco seems very interested in what she does. He turns to me from time to time and I smile at him but he doesn’t smile back and turns his attention immediately back to her.

He sits when she’s done, and she reaches for his hand. He doesn’t pull back.

“You’ve done a great job, thank you so much, you were very helpful.”

He glances at me and then back at her. His mouth curls up into an odd, tentative smile.

**\- XI -**

“So, what do you think?” I ask Anna as I prepare Draco’s favourite sandwich – ham and lettuce and tomato.

She takes a seat across the table. “He’s- I won’t lie to you, Harry, this is going to take time.”

“Oh.” I try to hide my disappointment as I place the last bit of lettuce on top of the rest, before closing the sandwich with the last piece of bread and settling it on a plate.

“Harry.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Draco… What he’s been through won’t be erased by a flick of the wand and a couple of discussions with me unfortunately. It will take months for him to start behaving the way we expect him to.”

I can’t help noticing she’s avoided the word ‘normally.’

She smiles at me, a wide, warm smile. “But he will get better, I can promise you that.”

I Summon the tray and a flicker of amusement passes through Anna’s eyes. I tend to forget that not everybody can do wandless magic as effortlessly as I do.

“Does he- Is there any hope for him to one day lead a normal life?”

“Define normal, Harry.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh come on, you know what I mean. Will he be able to live on his own, to have a job, to be in a-” The word dies in my throat before I can say it out loud.

“A relationship?”

“Well, yeah.” I feel a slight blush coming up my neck.

“The answer to all that is, yes, probably, but you’ll have to be patient. And there will be times when he will make tremendous progress and others when he will be regressing. All you need to do is be patient and never lose hope. This is absolutely normal. But I’m going to need your help with all that, Harry.”

“Of course, anything.”

“There’s this one thing I want you to understand if you want me to take care of Draco.”

“I do, Anna, I want you to take care of him from now on.” This hasn’t been a hard decision to make.

“Thank you very much,” she says with a smile. “I’ll be very happy to work with the two of you.”

“You said there was something you needed me to do to help Draco?”

“Oh, yes. From now on, I would like you to act only as Draco's friend, not as his Healer. I know you’ve been taking amazing care of him, and you’ve done a great job of it, but all you have to do now is be there for him. So go on with everything you’ve done until now, but do not abandon everything else for him. You need to have your own life as well, it’s important for the two of you.”

I look at her intently as her words penetrate my brain slowly but surely. Get myself a life. Well, that might take as long as Draco's recovery.

“Right, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good. Now there’s something else I’d like to talk to you about.”

I put the plate with the finished sandwich farther away on the table. “What is it?”

“Remember how you told me earlier on that Draco had been placed in isolation at one point?”

“Yes?”

“Right, so you see, when Hermione approached me with your request, I started researching about the psychological effects of imprisonment. Although to be honest, there’s not much information about that in the wizarding world.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You see, Mind Healing is not as advanced as it is in the Muggle world, so I had to research there for the most part, which is not that complicated since I’m quite familiar with it.” The word _Muggleborn_ passes between us. “The thing is, in the Muggle world, solitary confinement is sometimes considered as a form of psychological torture. After only a month, prisoners or hostages already start to get issues like loss of memory for instance.”

I blanch at the words. “After a month? So three years is…”

“Inhuman.”

It’s like something heavy has just fallen into the pit of my stomach. “And the consequences?”

“Well, it depends on the person, and their history of course, but the main problems are a severe lack of concentration, the impossibility to focus their attention on anything at all, like reading for example, a feeling of constant exhaustion leading those people to sleep a lot during the day, and obsessions over things that seem incredibly trivial and unimportant to us.”

It fits Draco's description so much I feel my heart ache.

“There are different ways to react of course. Some prisoners will completely lose it, going as far as to hurt themselves physically, whereas others will just fall into a deep depression and hardly move at all, like they’re in some kind of stupor.”

“The fact he doesn’t speak,” I say. “Does that happen often as well?”

She takes her time to answer, her gaze steady in mine. “Well, it is not specific to confinement, but yes, it happens when someone has been under shock for quite a long time.”

“But?” I can feel cold sweat trickle down my back at this point.

“But even though reactions like that are rather common, these problems usually diminish dramatically in the following days. I mean, the trauma doesn’t go away like that because it takes years to get over it but it surprisingly doesn’t take that long for former prisoners to get back to their previous lives.”

“Which is not Draco’s case.”

“It doesn’t seem to be, no.”

I lean back in my chair, my limbs feeling heavy and stiff all of a sudden.

“If Draco had only suffered from solitary confinement, he would still probably have OCD and nightmares but he would be much less dependent on you and much more like the Draco you used to know at school. I suppose you can’t say he’s the same he was before?”

“God, no. Far from it. It’s like they’re two different people.” I join my hands together to calm the trembling from my fingers.

“Yes, that’s what I feared.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, after over two months, he should speak much more than he does. And he should be able to remember who he was, which is why I was led to perform some extra tests on him.”

I take a deep breath and lean forward on the table, propping my elbows on it while my head rests in my hands and I close my eyes for a second.

“And?” I finally ask.

“And I think Draco’s state is not only due to his stay in solitary. There’s something else.”

It’s as if my worst fears had suddenly been released in the air and were hitting me sharply, as Hermione’s words come back to my mind.

“Like what?”

“Harry,” she places a soothing hand on mine, a vain attempt to calm the mounting anger in me. “Please keep in mind that I don’t know for sure, okay? These are just assumptions.”

I nod.

“I think Draco’s been cursed. I think someone’s cast some sort of Memory Charm on him. It’s not _Obliviate_ , not that bad a spell, I checked, but something that would be enough to strip him off the most important parts that made him what he was before. I sensed something, when I ran the tests. Something I couldn’t quite grab there.”

“Azkaban.” I shake my head. “It was done there. God, how could I be-” I run a hand in my hair and remove my glasses, discarding them on the table in front of me before taking my face in my hands again.

Something prickles at my fingers, something that I haven’t felt since I got Draco out of Azkaban that day. It rises fast inside me, and I have to close my eyes to try and rein it in.

“It doesn’t matter much right now, Harry.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“It doesn’t. Because there are many things we can work on right away that don’t have anything to do with a hypothetical spell we’re not even sure exists.”

She’s right. I put my glasses back on.

“Let’s just wait and see until we know more about that, okay?”

There’s something about her that fascinates me. This way she manages to project calm to people around her.

“How do you intend on working with him then?”

“Well, a part of his brain has been shut down on instinct, in order for him to be able to survive, and it’s different from what a spell would do. I’m going to use different approaches at first, and try to see which one works best on him. I’ll have to stimulate different parts of his brain – memory, language, emotions and so on – to try and get them to a more regular way of functioning. To achieve that, I will sometimes have to push his boundaries to provoke reactions.”

I look at her and can’t help being fascinated by all these people who devote themselves to helping total strangers get better.

“That’s- that’s really interesting, I can’t wait to see how it’s all going to work out. And what about- what about his magic?” My voice almost doesn’t falter. “Is it gone forever? Because right now, he doesn’t even seem to remember he’s a wizard.”

“I don’t think it’s been affected. I could feel it when I tested him. It’s very present. I think for now his magic is probably just buried somewhere deep inside his brain, and there’s a chance he doesn’t remember it’s anywhere at all, but I’m sure it is. It shouldn’t be too hard to get him to use it again.”

Anna’s words somehow manage to calm me down a little.

“I’ve never treated a patient who has suffered what Draco’s been through, so I don’t exactly know how his magic is going to react to stimulations but it will. I’ll go very slowly at first, and see how it goes.”

We talk some more about the practical arrangements of her care. She will come and see Draco every day, at least for the first month.

“Right, I’ve got to go now, Harry.”

“Okay, well thank you so much for coming here and well, agreeing to treat Draco,” I say as we move back to the living room.

“You’re very welcome. I can’t wait to start working with the two of you.” She grabs a handful of Floo powder and steps into the fireplace.

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow.”

I quickly go back to the kitchen and hurry upstairs to bring Draco his food.


	2. Chapter 2

  **PART II - WINTER**

_“And if you fall, I’ll catch you there,_  
 _I’ll be your savior from all the wars_  
 _That are fought, inside your world_  
 _Please have faith in my words.”_  
Eminem - Legacy

  
_**Three** _

_**** _

**\- HARRY -**

**\- I -**

_January 2003_  
Anna coming to our house on a daily basis brings another element of routine I realise we both needed, Draco and I. When she’s here, I know I can relax downstairs and take care of my own stuff, and that he will be okay for a while.

Anna doesn’t tell me much about what she does with Draco, but after only a week, I can already see a real change in his behaviour. He’s more relaxed, and his body language is different. It’s hard to explain because it’s just little things, but it’s there. There’s something different in his look as well, something deeper, some sort of determination, not the quiet resignation of the first few weeks.

But the thing that touches me most are the words that slowly pass the barrier of his lips and are uttered more frequently and clearly as each day pass. The third word he managed to say was “Anna,” and it shows how much she already means to him. He can now say small sentences. Not anything deep, just practical words – I’m hungry, I want this – things like that. He’s not close to reciting Shakespeare yet, but it’s there anyway. I cling to these little steps that slowly bring him closer to recovery.

The nightmares are still there though, and I wish he could tell me what they are about, although I have my ideas about that. They’re not quite as frequent as they used to be, and the fact that I’m here in his bed when it happens really helps, I think.

Tonight, I am slowly brought out of my slumber by rapid shallow breaths tickling the back of my neck, sending a thrill through my body. Draco and I are lying on our sides – our favourite sleeping position – and he is spooning me, like we always do, our legs entwined. He tightens his hold on me and I tense, instantly reaching for his hand on my stomach, wishing to reassure him. It’s almost a second nature for me to help him go through a nightmare, but tonight, something is different.

“Harry…” His voice is almost a whisper and it makes me shiver some more.

“Draco?” I murmur in the dark. “Draco, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“Harry…” he calls again and his voice is lower this time, deeper, almost like a moan. I freeze as the sound fades into jagged breathing.

“Harry…” this time, there is no doubt left. Draco is _moaning_ my name, repeatedly, as he writhes behind me.

My mouth dries up. Could I be completely wrong as to the nature of his dream? Could his shortness of breath mean something else altogether? As if answering me, Draco slightly shifts his hips and sure enough, an unexpected hardness pokes at my bottom.

Oh.

“Harry…”

I feel him slowly moving his hips now, rubbing his very insistent erection against my arse and I bite my bottom lip hard, trying not to move an inch and willing my own body to behave. I close my eyes tight, and try to think about anything that will help me forget about the present situation.

But my body won’t listen to my silent pleas. He moans my name again and I am rock hard in seconds.

God, this is so fucked up, and so wrong. Draco is weak, and fragile, and vulnerable, and not in his right state of mind, and what he is doing shouldn’t be affecting me at all, it shouldn’t make my body react in this way, but the truth is, I am revelling in his touch, in his warmth, in the comfort his arms bring me.

“Harry!” his pace increases and his hand leaves my stomach to rest on my hip as he grinds against me over and over again now. I don’t even know if he is conscious of what he is doing, and it adds to my guilt as I am now growing desperate for release.

I’m dying to grab my aching cock and jerk it hard, but it’s bad. Draco's probably still asleep, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing and God, this is torture. My whole body aches for him. Merlin, how I ache for him!

I want him. I want him so bad it hurts.

“Oh!” he cries with a final slow thrust against my arse cheeks, his hand still firm on my hip, his fingers digging in almost painfully as I feel a warmth spreading rapidly against the fabric of my boxers and I close my eyes.

I quickly palm my erection and it only takes a few strokes for me to completely lose it. I feel my balls tighten and without further warning, I come copiously in my own underpants, like a randy teenager, biting my lip so much I taste blood.

My body trembles under Draco's hand as I come down from the most intense orgasm I have had in a fucking long time. Draco’s breathing returns to normal. I quickly cast a wandless Cleansing Charm on both of us as shame washes over me.

I have a hard time falling back to sleep after that.

**\- II -**

I wake up still confused about what happened last night. Draco is asleep next to me, one long leg spread over the sheets, a hand under the pillow, his face as peaceful as ever. I grab my glasses off the nightstand and let my eyes roam over the pale expanse of his skin, his lithe figure, his black underpants.

I have to refrain myself from running my fingertips along his ribcage, the need to see goose bumps rising on his flawless skin almost too strong to resist. One word crosses my mind just then: forbidden. Draco is my forbidden fruit.

I get up with a sigh and step into the bathtub, welcoming the hot water on my tense body. I ignore my throbbing morning erection that has not diminished since I woke up.

I Summon a pair of jeans and a white tee-shirt from the wardrobe of my former bedroom and head downstairs.

I make tea. It’s funny how I used to hate tea with a passion when I was younger. For some reason, I associated tea with something boring, something only old ladies who had a lot of cats like Mrs Figg would enjoy. Or my Aunt Petunia. But somehow, over the years, I’ve come to enjoy it.

I try hard not to think about what happened last night as I watch the bubbles form inside the kettle. I had not expected anything like that to happen, not quite yet. Neither for Draco nor for me. It had been a serious while since anything managed to make my body react in such a way.

The sound of the Floo takes me by surprise and I draw my wand.

Ron appears in the door jamb, his hands up.

“Wow, it’s just me, mate, relax.”

“Sorry.” I put my wand away. “Tea?”

“Hell, no. Too early for tea. I’d rather have a Butterbeer.”

A chuckle escapes me and I open the cooling cupboard to get Ron a Butterbeer.

“You don’t happen to have peanut butter?”

“Blimey, Ron, didn’t you have breakfast?” I pour the scalding water in a mug and join Ron at the table. He’s already spreading an unhealthy amount of peanut butter over a slice of bread and my nose wrinkles at the sight.

“Not hungry?” he asks, taking a huge bite of his sandwich.

“Not really, no.” I blow a little on my tea and cup the mug with my hands, letting the warmth spread all over me as I wait for it to steep.

Ron devours his sandwich as if he hasn’t eaten in a week.

“Oh, I nearly forgot.” He swiftly wipes his hands on his trousers and fumbles in the pocket of his robes. He takes out a small parcel I recognise instantly: I get these at least once a week.

Ron puts it on the table and I open Mrs Weasley’s box. “Treacle tart.” I smile. “God, your mum.”

“Yep,” Ron says, taking another bite of his sandwich.

“You want some?”

“Nah, I’m good with this.”

“Okay.” I put the treacle tart in the cooling cupboard. “You know I still have her Christmas pudding in here. And about a dozen mince pies.”

“Well, yeah, you know her. She says that just because you're not coming over to see them as before she’s not going to abandon you."

A tiny bit of guilt seizes me right this instant. I know it’s been a long time since I’ve visited them. But I still get to see them at least once a month when they come over here with Andromeda and Teddy. Molly and Andromeda usually spend most of the day cleaning the house and baking while I play with my four year old godson and have passionate discussions about the Muggle world with Arthur.

“So, why are you here?” I say, going back to the table.

“I’ve got it,” Ron says, stuffing the last bit of bread in his mouth.

My heart skips a beat. “You’ve got it?”

He nods, making himself a second sandwich.

“Thank fuck. Only took you two months,” I grumble, pushing my glasses up on my nose.

“Yeah, well, I told you it would be long. Anyway. Everything I’m about to tell you has to remain strictly between you and me, okay?”

“Of course. Anything, come on.”

Ron stops chewing his sandwich and the look on his face oddly reminds me of McGonagall explaining the art of transfiguration.

“What?” I say.

“I mean it, Harry. You have to promise me it won’t leave this room.”

“Merlin’s tits, do you want me to take an Unbreakable Vow?” I retrieve the teabag from the mug with trembling fingers, press it between my spoon and the inside of the mug and discard it on the table.

He looks at me like he’s actually considering it and a shiver runs up my spine. It must be bad if it makes Ron forget all about the sandwich he’s still holding, peanut butter dripping all over my table.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“And promise me you won’t act on anything I’m about to tell you, no matter what, that you won’t try to seek revenge or any other bullshit of that kind, okay?”

My hands are getting all sweaty by the minute. “Yes, of course, Ron, anything. Now what’s going on?”

He engulfs the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and keeps his hands high up in the air and his eyes wander over the table for a while. “Could you…”

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

I cast a quick Scouring Charm on his hands clearing them of peanut butter in an instant. I do the same with the table. He plunges his hand in the inside of his robes, retrieving what looks like a small orange credit card from the inside pocket. He Unshrinks it with his wand and it finally takes the form of an orange file. The words _Draco Malfoy, b. 05/06/1980_ are written in large black letters on the cover.

I know I can’t touch it; the file keeps track of every single magical signature. I hold my breath when Ron opens it with a tap of his wand on it and a multitude of pictures, newspaper clippings and notes immediately organise themselves in stacks on my kitchen table.

Ron flicks his wand over the different stacks - except the one about the trials and soon they form a pile of documents that all go back into the folder.

“Right. I know what’s happened and who’s responsible for it. And Anna and Hermione were right, there was magic involved.”

A shiver runs down my spine. I force the huge lump that has just formed down my throat.

“What happened?”

“It started right after the war. Apparently, a few people got really angry back then, and particularly after the trials. They felt that the Wizengamot had been too lenient towards the Death Eaters.”

“That’s not true! The trials lasted for weeks because every single aspect was taken into account!”

“I know,” he says, making a placating gesture. “But somehow, these people kept rambling about how unfair it was that Voldemort’s sidekicks, and particularly the Malfoys got away so easily with everything once again. How the Ministry wasn’t doing its job, and how they wished there were still Dementors left in Azkaban so that bastards like the Malfoys would be Kissed and the world would be rid of such vermin.”

“But that wouldn’t have been right! That’s not the way it works!”

“Well, you can’t really blame them. I mean, it was hard for everyone after the war, remember?”

God yes, I remember. It was hectic. There were so many things to do! There was Hogwarts to rebuild, and Gringotts, and the Ministry, and lots of other places as well. There were people to bury, orphans to take care of, Death Eaters to go after, safe-houses to search, new Aurors to train. There was a whole world to rebuild.

“Well, one of these people worked in the Ministry and he apparently kept ranting about Azkaban,” Ron continues. “He kept seeing Kingsley about it and submitting ideas on how to run the place. On how to deal with the prisoners. In the end, Kingsley gathered a whole team to take care of it and put the guy at its head.”

“But surely Kingsley must have known-”

“Kingsley was very busy and to be honest, Death Eaters weren’t the priority after the war, were they?”

“Holy shit,” I mutter. “So this guy basically had free reign on everything Azkaban.”

Ron nods.

“He must be quite important then, because-”

“Well, yes. He’s an Unspeakable.”

I feel all colour leave my face. “He’s a what?”

“An Unspeakable. And as such-”

“He had access to everything. Every single file. Holy fucking Merlin.”

“Yep.”

I bring my tea to my trembling lips. God, it must have been so easy for this guy to manipulate information on Draco’s file and on - who knows? - other prisoners’ files, and to keep him there way longer than-

“But wasn’t there like a follow-up of all things Azkaban? I mean, surely the guy wasn’t left to his own devices, he certainly had to-”

“I dunno.” Ron takes a sip of his Butterbeer. “Yes, probably, although… it doesn’t mean everybody knew what was going on, I mean, we’re talking about Unspeakables, here, you know?”

I lean back in my chair. “So that’s how Draco ended up spending way longer than what he was supposed to.”

“Most probably, yes.” Ron runs a hand in his hair. “But we’ll soon know more about that since Kingsley asked me to take a good look at the whole thing.”

“That’s good. Who’s the guy, then? Do you have his name?”

“Mate, you promised me,” Ron says, his eyes fixed in mine.

“I know, I just-” I take a deep breath. For some reason, I need to know. “Please.”

Ron scrutinises me for a few seconds that feel like hours.

“Fine,” he says with a sigh. He opens Draco’s file again and takes out the picture of a middle-aged wizard I’m sure I’ve already seen somewhere.

I frown. “Who-”

“Terrence Burbage.”

“What?”

“Terrence Burbage. He’s the one Kingsley appointed as the warden of Azkaban. He was the one in charge of the execution of Malfoys’ sentence.”

I open my mouth but no sound comes out. Burbage. _Burbage_.

“Is he related to-”

“Hogwarts’ former Muggle Studies teacher? Hell, yes. He was her husband.”

“Her husband? But I thought-”

“That she was single? Well, me too, but nope.”

“Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

And then I remember.

Images come back to my mind as I remember this day four years ago like it was yesterday. The Death Eaters, of course, among them the Malfoys, Lucius with his head held high, Narcissa looking straight in front of her and Draco, avoiding eye contact with everyone, keeping his head low at all times. The glowing halo of the Patronuses surrounding us. The families of the numerous victims. Among them-

Terrence Burbage.

We had entered the second week of the trials when Charity Burbage’s case was brought up by the Wizengamot. All I knew back then was that Charity Burbage had been missing, like many, many others, but I had no idea what had happened to her. I discovered it that day. The Malfoys - mostly Lucius and Narcissa - testified and described in great details how Hermione’s former teacher had been savagely murdered by Voldemort in front of their very eyes. How she’d been hung from the ceiling for days, crying and pleading for her life. How in the end Voldemort killed her and had Nagini, his hideous snake, feasted on the remains of her body.

I remember the dead silence that invaded the circular room after that. As if someone had cast a _Muffliato_ on the whole room. Nobody was moving, nobody was saying a word, the horror of what had happened that day sinking deep inside of us.

I remember Draco’s face too. How livid he was, even more than usual. How terrified he looked. And how silent tears escaped his eyes and fell on the floor before him.

I remember because this is precisely the moment I realised I couldn’t let him go to Azkaban. It wasn’t a decision made out of reason. It was right there in my gut. It insinuated itself inside me and never let me go. He had made a mistake, I knew that, a terrible, massive one, but like Dumbledore had said that fateful night on the Astronomy Tower, he was no killer. He was just a boy who’d made the worst choices possible.

“You okay, mate?”

I snap back to the present, to Ron’s worried look on his face.

“Yeah, it’s just- I should’ve tried harder.”

“Sorry, what?” Ron blinks a couple of times, jaw hanging open and eyebrows pulled up.

“I should’ve-”

“Don’t you dare, Harry. Don’t you even dare go there.”

“Ron, you know things would be different if I-”

“Bloody hell, Harry, you spoke for him! You spoke for his mother! Hell, you even spoke for his slimy prick of a father!”

I shake my head. “Well, that wasn’t enough.”

“You-” Ron huffs in annoyance as his finger points in the air. “He did this all by himself. Malfoy. You didn’t take his hand and put the Mark on him. What you did for him… I’m not sure I would have been able to, to be honest.” I open my mouth but he raises his hand to stop me. “I’m not saying I’m proud of it, but it’s just- You did what you could, and you can’t change the past. What is done is done.”

No matter what Ron tells me, it doesn’t take out this overwhelming feeling that I’ve somehow _failed_ Draco.

And someone transformed what could have been a very difficult experience into a life-altering ordeal.

“You said earlier on that there was magic involved?”

“Oh. That. Er, yes, I did.”

“What do you-”

“Not much.” He hesitates.

“Come on, mate.”

“Well, you remember how Kingsley refused to let the Dementors come back to Azkaban after the war?”

“Of course. It was one of the first things he did when he was appointed Minister for Magic.”

“We think Burbage and his clique used a spell on the prisoners to keep them compliant.”

“Hermione was right, then,” I mutter.

“Isn’t she always?” Ron says with a smile. “Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

“Honestly, I wish she weren’t all the time. What was the spell?”

“We don’t know yet. One of our teams is working on it at the moment, but it’s probably a variant of the Memory Charm, cast so that they wouldn’t resist and would be very easy to handle.”

“I can’t believe it. They took people’s lives away from them. Their past, what they were, what they- It’s almost as bad as having Dementors.”

“Well, I think that was the goal, mate.”

“Fuck.”

I cast a quick warming charm on my tea and take a sip of it. The hot liquid is not the only thing burning inside my body now. There’s something else coursing in my veins, something I’m only too familiar with even though it’s been a while. Anger. Rage. _Fury_. Scorching me inside. My hands tremble and I keep them under the table. I don’t want Ron to see me freaking out and I don’t want him to think I’m about to do something stupid or whatever. But then I think of Draco again. How vulnerable, how dependent, how damaged he is. And then-

“Can I…?” I point at the picture of the guy.

“Of course.”

I take a look at the moving photo and at the man responsible for all that mess. It’s incredible how ordinary he looks with his touches of grey hair and his affable smile. He can’t be over fifty.

I’m starting to regret the promise I made Ron earlier on. Right now, I’m glad it’s just Ron across from me because I honestly don’t know how I would react were it Terrence Burbage.

Ron seems to read my mind.

“There will be an investigation, mate. Or at least, Kingsley will try to figure out what exactly happened there.”

“Will he be punished? For what he did?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. He’s going to be suspended at the very least in the days to come and there will be disciplinary measures taken. He might not be able to remain in the Department of Mysteries, but- I don’t know.”

“So, that’s it?” I can feel the blood boil in my veins. “What if he runs away?”

“He can’t. We’ve put a Trace on him.”

“A Trace? You mean, like the one underage kids get?”

“Yes.”

“But he’s an Unspeakable! He probably knows how to get rid of a Trace!”

Ron shakes his head. “Not this one. It’s a pretty strong one and anyway, I’m not sure he wants to escape.”

I huff in annoyance. “I just- God I just can’t believe something like this could have happened! I mean, fuck, we fought to avoid things like this, we fought to make a better world, and yet, five years after the war, it’s as if nothing’s changed!”

“Come on, mate, it’s not-”

“It’s true!” I stand up with a start.

“No, it’s not. A million things have changed. Hogwarts has been rebuilt, Gringotts has been rebuilt-”

“But it’s just a facade!” My fingers tighten on the edge of the table.

“Of course not!” Ron stands up as well. “How can you say that? The Ministry’s been reorganised, the- the abject laws that had been implemented under Voldemort have been-”

“Then how do you explain that some random guy was able to act like he did in Azkaban?” I yell this time. “Someone from the Ministry! Hadn’t Kingsley promised a better world? After all that’s happened?”

Ron stares at me as I’m panting hard, struggling to get my breathing to a steadier rhythm. There’s something in his look that- I don’t know, it just unsettles me, and I forget my anger for a while.

And then the corners of his mouth curl up in a smile.

“Good to see you back, mate.”

“What?”

The stupid smile is still there. “It’s been a while. Since, you know, you’ve yelled at me like that.”

I frown. “Wait, you’re _happy_? That I _yelled_ at you?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not like I’m into getting yelled at that much-”

“Well, you do live with Hermione,” I say with a smirk.

He laughs. “True. But seriously, mate, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you this- _alive_ , and well.” He shrugs.

And then I feel it too. This odd feeling that yes, maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m finally starting to get out of this overwhelming lethargy that has taken over my life lately. And he’s right, it _has_ been a long time since I have felt the fight in me. And it feels strangely good.

“You’re going to be okay?” he asks, snapping me out of my reverie.

“Yeah, yeah. I mean, yes, I am. Thanks, mate.”

“You’re welcome.” He stands up. “I’ve got to go.”

“Okay. Thanks. For everything.”

“Yeah. See you later, mate,” he says as he grabs Draco’s file and heads to the fireplace.

I flick my wand and the bottle of Butterbeer goes flying into the bin. I’m about to take care of the peanut butter and the bread when my eyes catch something on the floor. I bend over to retrieve it. It’s a newspaper clipping that must have fallen from Draco’s file when Ron put it back in his robes.

I take a closer look. It’s a picture of a grave. I try to make out the words on the headstone despite the grainy aspect of the paper.

 

_Charity Burbage, born 28 May 1956, died July 1997._   
_Ignorance is the real enemy._

My eyes then fall on the small caption under the picture.

 _Mrs Burbage was buried in Hogsmeade yesterday._  
 _  
_I stuff the piece of paper into the back pocket of my jeans and finish clearing the table.

 

**\- III -**

“Harry!”

My eyes flick open instantly and I reach for Draco’s hand on my stomach. He’s tense.

“Harry, come!”

“It’s okay, Draco, I’m here.” I turn around to face him but his eyes are closed, and I see beads of sweat running along his temples. And the look on his face! He’s scared. No, not just scared, he’s terrified.

I disentangle myself from him and bring some light to the room as I grab the flannel on my bedside table. I press it against his forehead in a gentle way, trying to soothe him as much as I can, murmuring his name softly to make the nightmare go. He’s calming down little by little, and soon, his face is peaceful again and he closes his eyes. I put the flannel away and study him for a moment.

He’s beautiful.

There’s no other word that comes to my mind. Just beautiful.

Back when everything was different, when we were younger and a war hadn’t happened and changed things forever, I had never really paid attention to him, physically, I mean. I was aware he was a rather good-looking boy, but I hated his guts so much that he was nothing but an arrogant pointy prick to me.

Nowadays, his face is very different. His whole body is very different. His name is still Draco Malfoy, and yet, he has little to do with the Draco Malfoy I knew and hated back at Hogwarts. It’s almost as if he was another person entirely. Although sometimes I get a glimpse of the old Draco. I know he’s not far.

Or maybe I’m just fooling myself.

He dozes off and frowns in his sleep, so instinctively, I bring my hand to his face and caress him, from his forehead down to his cheek, letting my thumb trail along his smooth, perfect skin. He relaxes a bit so I do it again. And again.

I freeze as he slowly opens his eyes and he looks at me.

“Harry.” The gentleness in his tone warms me up. He leans forward and places a soft, chaste kiss on my lips, before nestling up against me, in the crook of my neck. I wrap him in my arms and kiss the top of his head.

“Better?” I murmur.

“Yes,” he says, wrapping his legs around mine, snuggling closer to me.

I hesitate. I have no idea if it’s the right thing to do, if I’m right to ask him all about it, but my instinct tells me to go for it.

“What was it? Your nightmare? What was it this time?”

I feel him tense slightly again. I can almost hear the cogs working in his head.

“Fire,” he says in a breath.

“Fire?”

“Yes. Fire.”

“Fire,” I say again slowly. Fire. _Fire._ “Draco, do you remember the fire?”

“Yes,” he whispers again.

“What do you remember?” I try to hide the trembling in my voice. He remembers. He remembers the fire.

He’s tense again, and I hold him tighter still. I can’t see his face right now, since it’s mostly pressed against my neck, but I can feel his breath catch every time I speak.

“You. You came.”

I feel a tingling in my eyes. “I did. I came.”

“To rescue me.”

A single, silent tear runs down my cheek and I wipe it away. “To rescue you. I came back to rescue you.”

“To rescue me,” he says again.

“But I wasn’t alone. There were Ron and Hermione as well. My friends. Do you remember them?”

He lifts his head and looks up at me. “Friends.”

“Yes, my friends.”

“My friends?”

“No, they were not your friends, they were mine. You’ve never been friends with them.”

“My friends,” he insists.

_Oh._

“Your friends?”

He nods.

It’s a tricky one. What can I tell him? What shall I not tell him? I decide to go for the truth.

“Your friends were there with you. Actually…” He frowns, sensing my hesitation. “One of your friends started the fire.”

His eyes grow wide and I can see panic through them as the words slowly sink in. A thousand emotions seem to pass at an alarming rate inside his head. He closes his eyes again and swallows hard.

“No.”

“Draco…”

“NO!”

“Draco!” I take his face in my hands and force him to look at me. “Draco, it was a long time ago, okay?”

“No no no no no no no no, NO!” he says again and terror grows in his eyes. He starts shaking hard, kicking me as he tries to disentangle himself from my embrace. Merlin. What have I done? I grab both his hands and murmur a quick, slightly desperate _Relaxere!_ and it manages to calm him down a little.

I wrap him in my arms as tightly as I can and start cradling him to soothe him further.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, Draco, you’re safe now,” I say over and over again.

The trembling gradually diminishes and I feel his whole body relax again.

After a while, his breath is finally regular again and I can tell he’s fallen asleep. I sigh. Despite all his progress of the last few weeks, there’s still a long way to go before complete recovery and in moments like these, it’s hard not to think about the person responsible for Draco’s state. I take a deep breath; now is not the time to go down this road, not at night, not when everything gets bigger and uglier.

I spell the lights off and drift off to sleep, still holding him tight in my arms.

 

**\- IV -**

The sky hangs low above the garden, heavy clouds holding the promise of snow for the hours to come.

When I moved into the house, right after the war, I spent a lot of time decorating and rearranging it to my own taste. I went as far as reassigning rooms to make the house easier to live in. I turned the drawing room on the first floor into a master bedroom - my bedroom. I also transferred the kitchen from the basement to the former library, keeping the formal dining room but turning it into a sitting room.

My friends came in turn to give me a hand with the house, and with their help, what could have been a chore became a pleasure. Laughter filled the once empty house.

I discarded all of the Black family rubbish in the attic, well except for the infamous portrait of Walburga Black that wouldn’t go. I’ve spent hours trying to take it down, just like Sirius had done before, until one day, I took a drastic measure; I cut the moth-eaten velvet curtain in front of it and simply placed a Permanent Sticking Charm on it directly on the picture, so that it is now impossible to open it. The house is much more quiet since then.

The only thing I kept was the Black family tapestry. Not that I really wanted to keep it but like the portrait, I never managed to get rid of it. No matter what I tried, it wouldn’t go away. In the end, I put my wardrobe in front of it.

Kreacher was very unhappy with all these changes, and hearing him moan and groan all day long kept me on edge. After a week, I decided that it was either him or me. I sent him back to Hogwarts.

Once the house had been turned into a home, my home, I started working on the garden. Despite all that had happened during the war only a few weeks before, I still felt full of energy and had to busy myself, probably to avoid thinking too much. I loved working in the garden, and soon realised this outdoorsy activity particularly suited me. I would spend days on end there with Neville, trying to find which plants to put where, according to the sun, the time of the year and it was a pleasure - and a pride in some way - to see all we were working on so hard take form. While Aunt Petunia’s garden had been the typical English one, incredibly neat and straight as a die, I took pleasure in letting the plants live their lives and add touches of colour to the ensemble. It was a mess, but an organised one in some way. The garden was in my image.

That summer was amazing.

It really is weird when you think about it because after all these years being under pressure and an incredible amount of stress, this first summer after the war felt like heaven. No more threat of imminent death, no more blind, desperate search for Horcruxes, no more fear of losing people I loved, it was incredible. The whole lot of us who had survived the war - Ron and Hermione of course, but also Ginny, Dean, Seamus, Neville and Luna - would meet several times a week in my back yard and have fun. Talk. Laugh. Like normal young adults.

We never mentioned the war.

It wasn’t something we had decided upon - not consciously anyway - but that’s what happened. We avoided the subject of the war like the plague. Instead we talked about our plans for the future, our dreams, what we would be like in five, ten or twenty years.

Now if I’m completely honest, I can tell that even back then, a few alarm bells were ringing at the back of my head. All this fun, spending time together, we needed it, the whole of us, but it was only delaying the inevitable. At one point we would have to deal with what happened. I knew it; we all did. With all the suffering, the loss, the destruction, the duress we had been under, I can see now how all of that was just a headlong rush and that we would probably pay for it at one point or another. It simply wasn’t reasonable to think we would all come out unscathed from the trauma of war. It was just a matter of time, really.

And ultimately it did. It started touching us. We had nightmares, really bad ones. Some of us experienced irrational fears when we were alone, simple words would trigger odd reactions. We never really talked about it. We mentioned it casually during conversations but never lingered on it, never dared to face what it really meant, and anyway, we were all experiencing the same things so what was the point of rehashing them over and over again?

I think we simply needed to move on with our lives.

In September, everybody went their own way. Neville, Ron and I joined the Aurors, having no intention of going back to Hogwarts to resume our studies and having been offered this opportunity to start training without having completed our NEWTs. Hermione and Dean did go back though, and resumed their seventh year. Luna and Ginny also finished their studies. Ginny and I got together again, but we didn’t see each other much during that time. We tried to keep our relationship working, but the distance, and other interests, led us to break up.

And then just like that, our little group started to dissolve. I guess this is life and that it was bound to happen. As soon as she left Hogwarts, Ginny was recruited by the Holyhead Harpies. Hermione decided to increase her knowledge in Charms and started researching like mad, burying herself into work. Dean went to work at Gringotts. Seamus returned to Ireland to be closer to his family.

In the end, I considered us lucky. We all had rather balanced, healthy lives and were moving on.

I had not yet realised how much I had been fooling myself.

 

**\- V -**

_He stands on the other side of the street but I can’t see his face, I never can, he’s too far away._

_He’s watching the house._

_He’s watching Draco._

_I try to cross the street and confront him, but I never can. I walk to him, and it feels like I’m getting closer but I can never reach him._

_No matter what I do, he remains a blurry figure I can never catch._

 

**\- VI -**

Trying to keep in mind that I have to focus on the present is sometimes hard to achieve, I realise, especially at night.

It’s been a week since Ron came with the answers I’d been expecting for two months and I can’t stop thinking about it. The name Terrence Burbage keeps swimming inside my head, rolling over in my brain as I lie awake in bed at night, Draco’s soft breathing next to me, until the wee hours of the morning.

I know I’m driving myself insane over it. Hermione and Ron would say I am _obsessing_ again. I can’t really deny it; I have a track record on the matter.

It’s much better during the day though, when Draco fills my life with all the little nothings that make it bearable. Good even. Beautiful sometimes. Just like tonight.

Tonight, Draco and I are preparing for bed. We stand side-by-side at the sink of the small bathroom, brushing our teeth in our underwear and it feels oddly domestic.

We’ve been doing this for quite a while now, and at first, I was impressed with all the little rituals Draco needs to reassure himself: how he has to wait a certain amount of time to open the tap, how he always grabs the towel with his right hand and spends a huge amount of time putting it back exactly how it was. He needs all this, I know it. And I don’t mind for one second.

I stare at the mirror in front of me. I had to cast a _Blurreo_ on it when Draco first arrived here because he was scared of it. I think he is not quite ready to see his reflection yet.

As I am standing there, very close to him – we always need to touch one way or another – I feel his elbow bump mine. I move away a little, thinking he needs more space, but he does it again. I frown and freeze, the toothbrush still in my mouth, and sure enough, a third movement, a definite _shove_ this time, unbalances me and I look at him, rather puzzled. Is there something bothering him?

But the look on his face is not one of bother, it’s – bloody hell, it’s _mischievous_. Draco is pulling some kind of prank. He’s pushing me to _tease_ me. On purpose. I look at him, still unsure of what to do as he puts his toothbrush back into his glass and wipes his mouth thoroughly (three precise wipes, from right to left, with three different corners of the towel, always). I spit in the sink and rinse my mouth, discarding my toothbrush as well and wiping my mouth with my arm and when I look up, I face the same wicked smile.

I am surprised, I truly am. I’ve never seen Draco in such a playful mood before tonight. Does that have to do with what he did with Anna this morning? I make a mental note to ask her tomorrow morning about it.

He smiles – and fuck how I love his incredibly beautiful smile – and he puts his hands on my chest and shoves me hard, making me stumble out of the bathroom and closer to the bed.

I raise an eyebrow and smile slyly at him, before pushing him back gently. I don’t want to risk freaking him out, but I know he now expects a reaction from me.

He smiles more widely, showing his perfect teeth, and pushes me hard again, and this time, I catch his hands in mine before we both fall onto the bed, Draco on top of me, our faces really close to one another.

My smile fades instantly as I become fully aware of the pressure of his hard, hot body on mine. We are skin to skin, both naked except for our underpants, and it’s driving me crazy. I gasp and feel the lower part of myself react to his proximity and shit, I’m rock hard in seconds. What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I help feeling like that around him?

He seems to have sensed the change of mood in the room and he pins my hands on either side of my head, entwining our fingers together. As he does so, he applies more pressure on my body, and I can feel I’m definitely not the only one aroused. His erection is very insistent against my own.

He shifts his hips again and manages to settle between my legs. Fuck, I hadn’t realised he had become so strong lately.

His eyes never leave mine and he murmurs, “Harry…” before applying pressure to my groin, sending thrills all over my body and making me gasp.

Fuck. I am going to hell. Because this is wrong. This is all so fucking wrong. The other night, well, Draco was mostly asleep, and I wasn’t technically touching him but now, this is all different. He is very awake. And I know where this is going. And I have to stop it because this is not right, because Draco doesn’t really know what he’s doing.

I whimper as he starts rocking his hips on my stiff body, very slowly at first.

“Draco… no,” I pathetically protest.

He keeps moving on me, his gaze steady in mine.

“Draco, I can’t! We- this is not right, you have to feel better for that, I can’t-”

“I want.”

The sound of his hoarse, husky voice raises goose bumps all over my skin.

“Draco…”

“I want,” he says again, more firmly, increasing his pace over me. He vaguely reminds me of the old Draco, the spoiled brat who would do anything to get what he wanted.

But he’s not the old Draco. And I’m weak. And desperate. And in need. And fucking aroused. God, I have to resist, I have to say no, I have to stop this whole madness. But my body once again betrays me. My fucking body absolutely doesn’t give a flying fuck what my mind is trying to rationalise and it starts answering Draco's thrusts. I’m a terrible person because I want him. I want him so badly, and this is so wrong, and I’m taking advantage of his weakness, and fuck I can’t help but melt when he looks at me like that. God, that look in his eyes, the desire! Nobody’s ever looked at me like that, ever.

His breath is hot on my face now, as he’s panting hard and the friction of our erections is way too much for me to resist. I close my eyes but flick them open instantly as Draco’s lips touch mine and holy mother of Merlin hell, Draco is _kissing_ me. On the lips. A deep, strong, wet, messy kiss.

His thrusts are erratic on top of me as he moans against my mouth and that does it for me, I can’t hold back anymore; it’s all too much. I arch my back and come so hard against him that my vision blurs and I vaguely hear him come as well, with a series of deep “ _oh_ s!” that sound as though he’s been caught by surprise. He thrusts a few more times and then that’s it, it’s all over.

He lets go of my hands and crumples on top of me, his face buried in my neck, his breath hot against my skin and I close my eyes, caressing his hair gently as he wraps his arm around me and I do the same around his gorgeous body.

Fuck.

I am definitely going to hell.

 

**\- VII -**

In the morning, Anna notices something is wrong with me as soon as she steps out of the fireplace. I have huge bags under my eyes as I have hardly slept. Anna, who usually is all energy and wide smiles frowns, as she makes herself comfortable on the couch, crossing her legs.

“Harry? What’s going on?” she asks, smiling tentatively as she plays with a long coloured necklace sitting on her beige jumper.

“We have to talk,” I say very seriously as I settle in my armchair opposite her.

“Okay…”

“Right, there’s… there’s something that I really need to talk to you about.”

“Something happened to Draco?”

“Well, not to him, specifically but… with him rather.”

She has a small knowing smile as she maps her bottom lip with her tongue.

“What?”

“Nothing, Harry, just- carry on.”

“I think-” I take a deep breath; there is no right way to say this. “I think I shouldn’t keep Draco here any longer. I think he should go somewhere else, St Mungo’s maybe, so that you can still look after him there.”

I’ve thought about the whole thing all night after what has happened yesterday night, and that’s the wisest conclusion I came to.

She frowns. “And why would you want that?”

“Because I’m not the right person for him anymore.”

She studies me for a long time, searching my face for answers. “Harry, what happened?”

“I- I took advantage of him.” And now I just can’t look her in the eyes anymore. I am so ashamed of myself, to have given in to pure desire and want in such a way, to have been so selfish about the whole thing.

“In what way? Harry, I cannot help you if you don’t tell me the whole story.”

“All right. Last night, we were preparing for bed-” I stop dead, a blush creeping up my face at an alarming rate.

Oh.

Sleeping in Draco's bed seems so natural to me that I forgot I haven’t told Anna yet. Well, I guess it doesn’t matter much now anyway.

“I- yeah, I- I sleep in Draco's bed now, have for weeks. It wasn’t planned, not at all.” I speak quickly because I’m so afraid she would stop me and tell me what a terrible person I am.

“I just- I started doing it one night because he was so upset about his nightmare that he couldn't go back to sleep, and I was fucking tired, so I jumped into bed with him without thinking and I slept there. After that, I started sleeping in his bed every night, and it worked, I mean, for his nightmares, it really helped, they have diminished drastically. I mean they’re still there, but not as bad as before and-”

“Harry,” she says, reaching for my arm. “Stop doing that, just stop. You are getting yourself sick and worried about something that doesn’t really matter right now.”

“But it’s-”

“Just go on, Harry, tell me what happened last night.”

The moment of truth. “We- Draco and I had sex. Er, together.”

She leans back against the cushions, taking her time to answer, and at that precise moment, all I want to do is dig a huge hole and bury myself in it.

“Remember what I told you the first time we met?”

I stare blankly at her.

“I told you that the only thing I expected from you was to behave like his friend, not like his Healer, remember?”

I nod.

“Harry, you are _not_ his Healer. And you did nothing wrong. In fact, I thought you already were a couple when I first met you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, well, I could feel the chemistry between you two, it was pretty obvious. Now Harry, there is something that you must understand in all that. No matter what you say or do, you _are_ emotionally very involved with Draco, and you have been for weeks, probably months, sex or not. And knowing you, I’m sure you’ve agonised over your feelings for him, and you have very well tried to stop things from happening.”

Oh God, yes I did. I nod again, biting my lips together.

“Now, I won’t lie to you, it’s a tricky situation, but not for what you imagine. I don’t believe you took advantage of Draco, not one minute. Having worked with him for several weeks now, I know he is perfectly capable of making his own decisions, even if he’s still fragile and vulnerable. He has a strong personality, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he put all he had in him into persuading you. No, I’m not worried about consent one second. Now, if I’m completely honest with you, the fact that his body starts reacting in a normal, healthy way is a pretty good sign for his general health and well-being.”

I can’t help letting out a breath of relief at Anna’s reassuring words, although I brace myself for what is about to come.

“But…?” I provide.

“But you have to be careful, because feelings like these are rather powerful, and you must remain prudent. Draco, well, he just goes with what feels good at the moment. He loves you, I know he does, but it’s hard to tell the exact nature of his love for you right now. You saved him, so that definitely plays a role in his feelings for you. I don’t want you to start freaking out if anything happens again, but just remember to keep your head cool at any time, okay?”

“Okay.” I can do that. I hope so anyway.

“You can’t help feelings. You can’t help yours and Draco can’t help his. It doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. You can’t control everything. Sometimes you just have to let go. Feelings are a part of the healing process. You shouldn’t be afraid of them.”

“I’m not afraid of my feelings, I’m afraid of hurting him.”

She smiles. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

I shrug. “Well.”

“Right, I will go and see him now.” And she stands up and heads for the stairs.

“Right, okay, I’ll leave you two alone. Oh, and Anna?”

She turns around.

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Harry.”

 

**\- VIII -**

“Harry!” Anna throws her arms around me, a huge smile on her face as she takes me in a warm embrace, as if I hadn’t seen her just the day before.

This woman can illuminate a room just by her presence. Why she is still single is a mystery to me.

“Hey.” Hermione takes me in a hug. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” And weirdly enough, for maybe the first time in weeks, I actually believe those words.

She seems to notice the change as well and smiles at me. “Good.”

“Is Draco awake?”

“No, I think he’s still sleeping.”

“I’ll go and check on him anyway.” She climbs the stairs to the bedroom.

I turn to Hermione. “Tea?”

“Sure,” she says, following me into the kitchen. She takes out three mugs and I point my wand at the kettle full of water that starts bubbling at once.

“How is he doing?” Hermione asks as she puts the tea bags in the mugs while I get the milk.

“He’s fine - better. He’s improving on a lot of things, food for example. He’s not on his sandwich diet anymore, and even accepts hot meals now.”

“That’s great. So… does that mean you’ve started cooking again?”

I turn to look at her and our eyes lock for a moment before I turn again and place the mugs on the tray. “Not really, no. Owl delivery.”

“Oh.”

She’s disappointed, I can tell. I used to cook quite a lot when I moved in, and would sometimes spend hours in the kitchen for my friends. But not anymore. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve cooked for anyone. I got progressively tired of cooking only for myself, so now I get most of my meals delivered.

We move to the living room, the tray holding the three mugs, milk and sugar soon landing on the coffee table and just as Hermione and I sit in our usual spots - the armchair for me and the sofa for her - Anna comes down the stairs.

“Sleeps like a baby.” She smiles and I can easily picture Draco sprawled on his stomach, taking all the bed like he does every night, looking like he has no worry in the world.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll be awake soon.” I give them their mugs and turn to Hermione. “So, what are you doing here?”

“Anna came to me this morning, and we discussed a couple of things.”

“Yes,” Anna steps in. “I’ve been treating Draco for several weeks now, and he’s made amazing progress as you know.” She turns to look at me and here it is again, this slight blush on my cheeks. “I didn’t want to go too fast at first, because it’s important to lay the foundations of his recovery very carefully, but now, I think it’s time to take the next step.”

“What do you have in mind?” My hearts beats faster at the thought that Draco really is improving.

“Well, different things. First, I want him to leave his room. It won’t be an easy part, but I think he’s ready. He’s in a good place to do it, both emotionally and physically.”

Wow. Draco leaving his room is indeed a huge step. He’s been here for almost four months now, and has never left it once.

“So you mean that in the next few what - weeks, days? - he’ll be able to wander the house?” I ask.

Anna puts her empty mug on the coffee table and folds her arms on her chest. “Probably, yes.”

“Wow.” I find this hard to believe, to be honest. Every time I have tried to get him through the door of our bedroom, it has ended in Draco having a panic attack over it. But Anna’s words come back to my mind. I am not Draco’s Healer; she is.

“Draco and I have worked on that quite a lot over the last few days, and he’s been quite responsive, so I’m pretty confident it will work.”

“It’s just- It’ll be such a milestone.”

“It will.”

I try to picture it in my head. Is it really possible that in the next few weeks I could be sitting here with Draco, drinking tea? It seems surreal right now.

“What about the other things then, his magic, his memory?”

“Well, magic is the second thing we need to discuss. Hermione told me you still have Draco’s wand?”

“I- yes, I do.”

I never gave Draco’s wand back after the war. Not that I wanted to keep it, God no, but because after the war I was caught up in a whirlwind that prevented me from taking care of it. And then, Draco was sent to Azkaban, so there wasn’t any point in that anymore.

“Good. I think we’ll have to work on that rather soon as well. I’ll explain the whole thing to you when it’s time. In the meantime, don’t try to do it yourself, because even if I doubt it would lead to anything dangerous, there are still precautions to take before, and it’s better if you’re not on your own with Draco when it happens.”

“Right. And what about his memory?” I ask.

“That’s the tricky part, because we still don’t know what is buried deep inside his head and can still be retrieved and what might be lost forever because of the spell.”

“Unfortunately,” Hermione adds, “There is no counter-curse to the spell they used in there, as you know.”

I nod. Ron confirmed to me the other day that the spell cast on the prisoners was indeed a variant of the Obliviate one and that there was indeed no possibility to use a counter-curse. No easy solution to get Draco back to the person he was before. The damage was too deep.

“So that’s the other thing I’m working on with Draco, but it’s not enough.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“You see, I don’t know Draco, I don’t know his past, his history, apart from what you’ve told me and it’s not much in the end. So what I need now is to bring as many people from Draco’s past to him, so that by seeing them and having them telling about their common history, it hopefully helps unlock some parts of his brain that could have been shut down by the trauma.”

“So you need people from his past?”

“Yes. You are one of them obviously, Hermione and Ron as well.”

“But that’s not enough,” I mutter, almost to myself.

“No, it isn’t,” Hermione says. “We need people who have been closer to him, people who have shared his everyday life more than we have. With us, it’s only a small part of his past that would be unlocked. That’s why we need-”

“We need Slytherins…”

Hermione looks into my eyes. “Exactly.”

“But how? How are we going to find them? And even admitting we do, how on earth are we going to make them come here and talk to Draco? I mean, I hardly know what is going on with the Gryffindors who were in our year so the Slytherins?”

Hermione smiles. “I think there’s at least one I can put my hands on.”

“Really?”

“Yes, the hospital works with him pretty often. He makes potions for us, even though we’re not his main client, and I’ve seen him around a few times already over the last few months.”

“Who are we talking about?”

“Blaise Zabini.”

“Oh.” I crinkle my nose. I remember Blaise Zabini, the dark-skinned, rather handsome Slytherin boy who had been a guest at Slughorn’s little parties in sixth year. I don’t have fond memories of the guy; I remember he was basically a bigoted bastard - just like Draco - although his family never followed Voldemort.

Anna sees my trouble. “It’s all right, Harry, you don’t have to like him. If he was Draco’s friend, then that’s all that matters.”

“He was a jerk. I’m not sure he really gives a fuck about Draco, to be honest.”

“Well, people change, Harry. And you don’t know about that, you might be surprised. People move on.”

“Yes, look at you,” Hermione says. “You and Draco used to hate each other, and look where you two are now.”

“It’s different.”

“It is. But it’s worth trying anyway.” Hermione puts her hand on my arm.

“Okay, then. I’ll go and see him.”

“There’s no hurry, though,” says Anna. “There are several things I have to work on with Draco before he’s ready to meet anyone, and one of the conditions for that to happen will be for him to leave his bedroom and wander around the rest of the house until he feels like he owns the space.”

I frown. “Why? Why do you have to wait until he can leave his room?”

“Because right now, his room and the bathroom are the only places he knows. I want him to meet other people in another room, a more neutral one, like here, in the living room because if Draco ever feels uncomfortable for whatever reason, then he’ll still have the safety of his bedroom to return to.”

“Oh, makes sense.”

“So, it could still be a while before Draco can manage to feel comfortable around the house.”

“Right, so, I’ll go and meet Zabini, and then, if he agrees, we’ll keep in touch with him and set a date as soon as Draco’s ready to see him, is that right?”

“Perfect,” Anna says, smiling broadly. “Right, I’ll go and take care of Draco now.”

“And I have to go,” says Hermione. “I’ll talk to you later.”

 

**\- IX -**

“So,” I say on a cloudy afternoon as I push Draco back to his side of the bed so I have room to rest my back on the headboard. “I brought you magazines.”

I drop the pile of old issues of _Quidditch Weekly_ in his lap _,_ and he hastily grabs one as if afraid I would take them from him if he didn’t.

“Merlin, you are impatient!” I grin at him and he sticks his tongue out in the most childish manner, making me chuckle. “Git,” I tell him, shoving him with my shoulder, and he narrows his eyes in defiance before turning his attention back to the magazine.

I got the idea this morning as Draco was working with Anna. I used to subscribe to _Quidditch Weekly_ before I lost interest in the whole thing, but for some reason I still have some old issues. I thought it would be a good idea to show them to Draco; he’s been sleeping much less during the day lately, and well, he doesn’t have much to do so I thought the magazines would provide a nice distraction. And it might also help him remember about other things from his past.

He starts turning the pages frantically, his eyes roaming hungrily over the moving pictures. His interest is definitely piqued. I wonder what he remembers about Quidditch, a huge part of what we did at Hogwarts.

He freezes as his eyes fall on a full-page picture of a handsome Quidditch player flying furiously towards the camera, wind whipping his red and black uniform, arm held in front of him as his fingers almost close on the Golden Snitch before the whole scene starts all over again. There is no mistake as to the identity of the player. It’s someone Draco and I have both met.

Viktor Krum.

Draco’s mouth hangs open. His eyes follow Krum a few times but his attention is soon diverted to the caption under the picture: _Seeker Viktor Krum fails to catch the Snitch for Bulgaria at the 2002 Quidditch World Cup._ His finger traces the words over and over again.

“You remember Krum?” I ask gently.

He lifts his head and looks at me before nodding slowly.

I smile. “He was a Seeker. Just like you.”

He nods again and hesitates. “Like you?” he finally says.

I can’t help the huge smile that grows on my face. “Yes,” I say, “I was a Seeker too.”

He searches my face, as if looking for more answers, before turning his attention to the picture again.

I have an idea. I jump from the bed and Draco looks puzzled.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell him before running to my room, leaving the door open. I know it must be somewhere but I can’t exactly remember where I put it. I fumble through my dresser drawers, but it isn’t there. I pause a moment to think, before heading downstairs to the living room and frantically searching the drawers of the glass-door cabinet facing the fireplace.

It’s a drawer that I don’t open very often. There are a whole bunch of various items in it, items I threw in it when I moved in and never took a look at after that. Knowing they’re here is enough. As I fumble through the drawer, I can’t help smiling as I retrieve an old badge that seems stuck forever on _POTTER STINKS_. I throw it back in and soon my fingers meet a very familiar object. Draco’s wand. I take a good look at it, running my fingers softly down the hard, thin length of it before putting it back and searching the drawer again.

That’s when I find it.

I rush upstairs and pause at the door, catching my breath as I observe Draco. He’s still reading the magazine, intently looking at the pictures. There are several issues displayed on the bed, all of them open as if he had bookmarked the most interesting parts. He is completely focused on the one he is reading, whatever it is, and jumps a little as I resume my position next to him on the bed.

“What are you reading?” I ask him, still holding the small ball tight in my hand.

He lifts his head to look at me before shoving the magazine on to my lap.

“Potter,” he says in a low voice, and my heart skips a beat. It almost sounded like the old Draco.

I pick up the magazine, and sure enough, there is a whole article about me. I had completely forgotten I had been featured in one of the issues right after the war, as there had been rumours about my joining a professional Quidditch team at the time. On the left page is a detailed article on my supposed skills as a Seeker, and speculations as to which team I could play for. On the right page is a picture of me flying on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch during a game against Ravenclaw, one of the last games I had played during sixth year.

“Yep, that’s me,” I finally say as I start skimming the article. It brings back all sorts of memories from Hogwarts, good ones, mostly.

After a while, I put the magazine away, having no desire whatsoever to look at my younger self any longer, and reach for Draco’s hand. I open it and place the Snitch I retrieved a few moments ago.

He frowns.

“That’s a Snitch,” I explain. “Actually, that’s the first one I won from you back when we were twelve.” Pictures come to my mind. This was the day I broke my arm and Lockhart had pathetically tried to mend it before finally sending me to the hospital wing with no bones left in it. It was also the first time Draco and I had played together. It had been intense, to say the least. In the end, I had won. And every other time after that.

Draco scrutinises the little ball, rolling it in his fingers over and over again, feeling its weight.

“You won,” he finally says.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Always,” he says more quietly this time, lifting his hand a little higher in the air, observing the way the light catches on the shiny ball.

I shrug. “I was lucky, mostly.” Which hadn’t always been entirely true, although I had been, at times.

“No. You were good.” Draco’s stopped observing the Snitch and is now looking intently at me.

“I- well, yes, I was, probably. But you were a very good Seeker too, very fast and skilled, and you nearly beat me many times.”

“But you won.”

“That’s right.”

“I never did.”

“Well, not against me, no.”

He narrows his eyes and remains silent for a short while.

“You cheated,” he finally says very seriously, but a flicker of something different passes through his eyes as he speaks.

“I did not! You were the one cheating all the time, Malfoy!”

He starts at the use of his last name before the corners of his lips curl up in a very recognisable Malfoy-ish smirk. He’s teasing me again, and it spreads warmth all over my body. He’s doing it more and more these days, and every time it sends a thrill through me. He is getting better. It takes time, but he’s getting there. He will be all right in the end, or so I hope.

“Git,” he says playfully before shoving my shoulders, making me lose my balance a little.

“Hey, who are you calling a git, Malfoy?” I retort, pushing him as well, although a little bit too hard as he finds himself flat on his back on the open magazines. I am now on top of him, my hands still pressed on his shoulders, our faces close.

I realise, a fraction of a second too late that it’s a huge mistake. The playful mood that was there a moment ago has been replaced by something else. I have no time to dwell on it though, as Draco takes advantage of my hesitation and grabs the back of my head forcefully, crashing our mouths together in a strong, deep kiss. I whimper pathetically against his mouth.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

After what has happened last time, I had promised myself I would not lose control around him ever again. Not while he’s still not completely himself anyway. Like Anna said, I’m trying to keep my head cool and I can’t do that if my body is pressed against his. As he holds me tight, barely allowing me to breathe, I force myself to break the kiss and hastily scramble off the bed. He props himself on his elbows, looking thoroughly flushed, his hair mussed and a pink tinge on his cheeks.

My heart clenches at the look of deep hurt in his eyes, but tell myself it’s the right thing to do.

“I- I have things to do, I- er, will be back soon,” I explain, fidgeting with my fingers, before leaving the room and closing the door behind me.

I lean on it for a moment or two, allowing myself to process what just happened and to catch my breath. Draco’s taste is still very present in my mouth, and I absentmindedly bring trembling fingers to my lips before heading downstairs.

 

  _ **Four**_

_****_

**\- HARRY -**

 

**\- I -**

_February 2003_

It’s complicated to have a precise sense of time passing when you hardly go out. The windows are sometimes the only indicators that the outside world indeed exists, and that no, the world hasn’t stopped turning.

Draco is sitting on the chair next to the bed while I stand behind him, brushing his hair like we do every day. It’s longer now, about an inch below his jawline and it really suits him. I spend a tiny bit more time than necessary running my fingers through it before gathering it in a small ponytail and tying it with a red ribbon. I love all these little rituals we have.

I run my hands along his neck from behind, caressing the soft skin there and enjoying the sounds of Draco purring at my ministrations.

“There you go, all done,” I say cheerfully and am rewarded with Draco’s broad smile. I smile back at him, caressing his chin before leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on his mouth, my hand still cupping his cheek. This is the only loving gesture I allow myself lately, despite what happened a few weeks ago when Draco had tried to kiss me and I had, well, rejected him in some way. So I know I shouldn’t even kiss him, but well, I’m only human. For the rest, I do my best to avoid ambiguous situations.

I pull back and he touches his hair, patting his head to check everything is well and truly in place, that there are no bumps: three times with his left hand on the left-side of his head, and then three times with his right hand on the other side. It takes time. It would be much faster if he could see what he is doing.

And then it dawns on me. Draco has been here for practically six months - bloody hell, half a year already - and still hasn’t taken a single look in a mirror. That must be really weird.

“Draco,” I say, still unsure about his reactions at this point. “Do you- Do you remember what you look like?”

He frowns, before slowly bringing his left hand to his face and touching it thoughtfully.

“Do you…” I take a deep breath. “Would you like to see how you look?”

I see something akin to terror pass quickly in his eyes but then he closes them and breathes slowly, his mouth moving a little.

After a while, he opens his eyes again. “Yes,” he whispers.

My heart leaps in my chest as I take out my wand and Summon the hand mirror from the bathroom. There’s a distinct sound of a drawer opening and closing and a couple of seconds later, the small mirror lands in my open hand.

“Right, you ready?”

He grabs my free hand and holds on to it. “Ready.”

I bring the mirror to his face slowly and hold my breath. Draco’s mouth hangs open for a while before his hand touches the cold surface, tentative, his fingers caressing it gently. He then brings them to his face, cupping his jaw, turning slightly to the left to get a better view at it before doing the same with the other side. He is still frowning but now closes his mouth and starts making all kinds of faces, playing with his reflection.

I let out a breath of relief. It’s working.

“This is you, Draco, see, you are-”

“Handsome,” he cuts in, a serious look on his face.

I chuckle. “Yes, very. You’re a very, very handsome boy, Draco Malfoy.”

“Man, not boy,” he corrects me, running his hand over his chin again.

I can’t help but laugh out loud.

A knock on the door signals Anna’s arrival and Draco hands me the mirror back.

I kiss him again and soon head downstairs, leaving them to their daily session, feeling so very happy at the important step he’s made.

 

**\- II -**

“You sure you’re going to be all right?” I can’t help asking Anna for the umpteenth time since she arrived this morning. She sits on the chair next to our bed. Draco’s hand grips my waist tighter and his right foot possessively curls around my leg as we sit here on the bed.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine, right, Draco?”

He turns to me and searches my face, as if expecting to unearth all my deepest secrets with his gaze.

“Right,” he says in a breath.

I smile at him, maybe a tiny bit too enthusiastically. “Great. I won’t be long.” I remove a strand of blond hair from his eyes, sweeping it aside before pressing a soft kiss on his forehead as I stand up. He doesn’t let me, though and tightens his grip.

“Not long,” he warns me in his deep voice, his face very serious.

“I promise I’ll be back very soon.” My eyes don’t leave his as I disentangle myself from him.

“Right, see you soon, Harry,” Anna says as I close the door behind me.

I walk down the stairs and take a quick glance at the coat rack and realise all my warm coats are still upstairs in my wardrobe. I hesitate. I can’t really go back there, because it would probably confuse Draco to hear me coming back so soon, so I settle for a brown thick jacket that’s not seen daylight for months and my old Gryffindor scarf.

I stand by the front door and close my eyes, inhaling deeply. I slip my hand in the pocket of my jeans and take out the piece of parchment where Hermione has noted Blaise Zabini’s business address. It’s only a short Apparition from here, and should take ten minutes at the most.

I open my eyes again and take out my wand. I can do this. As soon as my wand touches the door, the seven bolts start moving at once with loud, metallic clicks. The door creaks open.

 

**\- III -**

I had forgotten how bright the light from outside could be and I have to blink a couple of times for my eyes to get accustomed to it. It’s as if I’d been blinded by hundreds of camera flashes all at once, and that’s when I realise it’s not the case. Not anymore.

I pause for a moment at the top of the steps. Grimmauld Place is almost empty at this hour. This is a residential area so people are mostly at work at this time of day. I pull my collar up to try and block the chill from this very cold day. Winter is still in full swing, and the grey of the heavy sky combined with the bareness of the branches gives the ensemble an air of utter desolation.

Nothing has changed in the area. I don’t know why it surprises me; what did I expect? That the world would be completely different from when I started hibernating? Life goes on, it always does, no matter what. Even the seemingly dead trees will come back to life at one point.

I pluck my hands in my pockets, take a deep breath, and start down the steps.

The walk to the Apparition point is more pleasant than I would have thought, despite the cold and my too thin jacket. I curse under my breath for forgetting to cast a Warming Charm over myself before leaving the house. Now, it’s too late.

This outside world still feels foreign to me, but it’s not as hostile as I thought it would be. It even amuses me, in a way, to be a spectator of other people’s lives for a change. I take in the colours, the movements, the different smells and the noise. The latter is a bit too much for my taste, but it’s part of the ambience.

I reach the Apparition point and try to focus on the three D’s: destination, determination, and deliberation. It’s been so long since I’ve Apparated anywhere!

Everything goes black around me and I am pressed from all directions as the unpleasant feeling of being squeezed in real tight overwhelms me.

But then, it’s over soon enough. I have reached my destination.

 

**\- IV -**

“Come in!” A deep, rich voice answers my knock on the door to Zabini’s office. I push it open and step inside. The thick beige carpet muffles the sound of my steps as I move to the gigantic mahogany desk at the other end of the room. It’s piled high with parchments, and a collection of empty coffee cups.

My attention is drawn to the tall handsome man coming to greet me, all smiles, displaying perfect white teeth contrasting with the darkness of his skin. He’s wearing impeccable deep purple robes that would be rather formal if they were not wide open, revealing a three piece black suit and a deep purple shirt underneath. A striped necktie adds a fancy touch I didn’t know he had. It could be easily too much, but the ensemble is rather harmonious.

Blaise Zabini had always seemed rather austere to me, and this picture of him somehow doesn’t fit the one I had from my memories. He holds out a hand for me to shake and shows me one of the two leather armchairs facing his desk, and if I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t have guessed this was the sulking boy I had been in school with. I suppose, as I take a seat, that being a grown-up and having a business might have this effect on people. His secretary pops into the room and offers me something to drink, and I settle on tea as usual, while Zabini goes for coffee.

“Well,” he says leaning back in his swivel chair, “I must admit I was not completely sure you would show up.”

I raise an eyebrow and tighten my hold on the mug of tea. “Really? What made you think that?”

Zabini sets his eyes into mine as if trying to solve a complicated riddle. “It has been a while since the wizarding world has heard of its favourite hero.”

“So?” I can’t help stiffening a little, despite the bloke’s affable manners.

“I thought maybe you had been fed up of the attention and had moved abroad.”

“Oh, well no, I didn’t. Sorry to disappoint you.”

He narrows his eyes. “Why are you here, Potter?”

“I need your help.”

He leans forward and rests his elbows on his cluttered desk, the empty cups clinking briefly. “My help?”

“Yes. Although it’s not for me. It’s for Draco.”

A hint of surprise flickers through his eyes but he quickly regains composure. “Malfoy?”

“Yeah, why? You know other people called Draco?”

“Fair point.”

The corners of his mouth curl up in a small smile.

“What?”

“Nothing… it’s just… It’s strange to see you barge in my office and hear you call Malfoy by his first name.”

Oh… Well, that makes sense. I’m so used to Draco that I tend to forget Malfoy these days.

“So what is wrong with him? I haven’t seen him in years. Last I’d heard, he had been sentenced to one year in Azkaban, but I have no idea what happened to him after that.”

“That’s because he never got out.”

He frowns. “What do you mean he never got out?”

I’m pleasantly surprised to note a touch of concern in his voice.

I’ve debated what exactly to tell Zabini. He could very well call the _Prophet_ as soon as I leave the building. I don’t know the guy, after all. It’s not as if we’d been close all those years. But then, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter, and the _Prophet_ doesn’t matter either. Let them print whatever lie they want to. I’m here for Draco.

“He was never released. A few months ago, I came across the information that he was still in Azkaban after all this time. More than three years.”

“I had no idea,” he mutters, visibly surprised by what I’ve just told him, all signs of earlier pretence gone by now. “Three years you say?”

“Yes.”

“No way.” He brushes his bottom lip absentmindedly on his cup of coffee. “But how is it even poss-”

There’s a knock on the door and Zabini’s assistant, a young, pretty brunette, enters, holding a pink file against her chest.

He turns to me. “Would you excuse me for a second? I’ll be right back.”

I find myself all alone in his immense office. I wonder what could have pushed someone like Zabini to start a business. His family is among the richest of the wizarding world, and unlike the Malfoys, they were able to keep their fortune intact after the war.

I take a peek outside the floor-to-ceiling window of Zabini’s office. It’s a breathtaking view of London: the river, of course, but also the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben and the London eye. I realise I’ve been living in London for years now but have never ever bothered to visit it properly. I guess that’s always like that when you live in a city: you always stay in your same, safe and familiar environment.

Watching all the cars going by, the people hurrying down the streets, makes me realise there’s definitely a life out there, right on the other side of my own front door, even if I’ve tried - rather successfully - to forget all about it.

“Sorry, emergency,” Zabini says as he walks in and sits back at his desk, scribbling a few words on a parchment.

“What are you doing?” I blurt out. “I mean, what is your business about, exactly?”

He leans back in his chair, running the end of his quill on his lips. “I make potions, is the easy answer.”

“And the not-so-easy one?”

He discards the quill on the encumbered surface and rolls his chair closer to the desk. “I conduct researches to combine ordinary ingredients and create perfect equivalents to the rarest items.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Well, for example, you know how hard it is to find Unicorn’s blood-”

“Not to mention illegal.”

“That’s right,” he says with a broad smile. “So we are trying different combinations to make a potion that would have some of the same properties as Unicorn’s blood, without having to actually kill one.”

“And you work with St Mungo’s?”

“Absolutely. Our main objective is to provide cheap equivalents to the rarest Healing Potions, so that they become available to everyone.”

“That’s very generous of you,” I say, a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

“Ah, but I am a very generous person, Potter.”

“But why do you even work? I s’pose you don’t really need to, right?”

“It is my contribution to the world, I guess.” He places his elbows on the desk and leans on them. “What about you, Potter? What are you doing these days? Living the idle life of the rich and famous?”

“I take care of Draco.”

“And before that?”

‘It’s none of your business,’ is the answer that comes first to my mind, but then I realise Zabini has just explained to me what he did, so I guess I can make an effort.

“I trained to become an Auror.”

He takes a look at my clothes. “I haven’t been at the Ministry recently, but this doesn’t exactly look like the Auror outfit I know.”

“That’s because I’m not an Auror. Not anymore.”

“So the _Prophet_ was right, then?”

“Yes. Now, about Draco.”

“Right. So he spent three years in Azkaban you said?”

“Yes.”

“And after that?”

“I got him out.”

“You got him out.” He leans back in his chair again, resting his hands on his stomach. “So… where is he, now?” he says after a while.

“At my place.”

“At your place?” The surprise is back on his face. He bursts out laughing, making me jump in my seat at his brutal change of mood. “I’m sorry, but, have I landed in a parallel universe?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on, Potter. You and Draco hated each other for years while we were at school. His father tried to kill you and you were on different sides of the war. And now you’re telling me that you’ve got him out of Azkaban and that you’re what, flatmates?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” I snap.

“I’m sure it is.”

“I-” I hesitate, searching Zabini’s face, wondering for the second time today if I can really trust him. But then, Draco doesn’t have many options, does he?

“Right after Lucius Malfoy was found dead in his cell, his wife paid me a visit.”

I remember the day vividly. I was just coming back from my grocery shopping when I found Narcissa Malfoy sitting on my doorstep. I nearly dropped my bags on the pavement at the sight of this tiny blonde woman who had lost all the haughtiness and distinction I had seen before. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t leave her outside so I invited her in.

The trials had been over the week before, having gone on for weeks and resulting in the arrest of an impressive number of Death Eaters - among them Draco and Lucius Malfoy, of course. I remember the odd atmosphere reigning in our small secluded world after that. It was as if everybody was waking up after a very bad dream and had to learn how to lead a normal life again. I, for one, felt completely lost. I had joined the Aurors, but it hadn’t brought the satisfaction and thrills I had thought it would.

Zabini brings me out of my reverie. “Continue.”

“She was a wreck, a total mess, and she was scared for Draco. She kept telling me he would need help once he got out of Azkaban, how they had nobody left, and would I be there for him? I was uncomfortable, to say the least. I didn’t know what to tell her. I mean, had it been one of my friends, of course I would have been there in a heartbeat. But Draco? He’d never been my favourite person in the world, as you know. I tried to reassure her the best I could. It seemed to soothe her and she relaxed a little.”

“I think I can feel where this is going.”

“You knew her well?”

“I had met her a few times, yes. She could be very persuasive when she had something in mind. And she would have done anything for Draco.”

We stare at each other for a moment. Pictures from the Forbidden Forest pass through my mind.

“She definitely would. Anyway, she started rambling about honour and dignity, and what would happen to Draco if she were to disappear. She talked and cried, and talked some more.”

I put the empty mug of tea on the desk and take a look outside the window again. I’ve often wondered after that if Draco’s mother had known at the time she only had a few weeks left. I never found out.

I turn my attention back to Zabini. “And then she made me promise. She made me promise to take care of her son should anything happen to her. I was reluctant but she insisted. Like you said, she could be very persuasive. In the end, I accepted. I promised. I promised to take care of Draco. But that wasn’t enough.”

“I suppose that’s when she called in a life-debt for what she had done for you?”

I turn to face him again. His gaze is intent on me, making me slightly uncomfortable.

“Yes. I agreed to take care of Draco should anything happen to her. I’ve often wondered why she came to me. Why she hadn’t come to you or any other close friends of Draco’s.”

Zabini’s lips curl up in a small smile again. “You still have no idea how it works in our world, do you?”

“I- No, not much.”

“It makes perfect sense. The Malfoys had just been convicted and sent to prison, so she had literally nobody left. No one in their right mind would have helped them at that time, not for one second.”

“But what about you? Couldn’t you have helped?”

Zabini seems amused at my lack of understanding of pure-blood politics.

“You mean, had I known what was going on? No, I wouldn’t have vouched for him.”

“But you were his friend!” I say. “Where on earth is the bloody Slytherin loyalty in all that?”

He narrows his eyes and an odd glint passes over them. “Self-preservation comes before loyalty, and the Malfoys, as much as I loved Draco, were not people anybody would have come close to after the war if they had an ounce of sanity.”

“But what about Parkinson, then? Or Goyle? Draco saved his life after all, he owed him a life-debt!”

“Oh, please. Narcissa was no fool and seriously, have you met the guy? I mean, I like him very much, but he’s not the brightest star in the sky, nor the most talented wizard of all times. And Pansy scarpered to France right after the end of the war.”

Bloody hell, in moments like these, I feel really happy the Sorting Hat listened to me and put me in Gryffindor.

“Madam Malfoy came to you, Boy-Who-Lived, Saviour-of-the-Wizarding-World, the _Hero_ , and claimed her life-debt. She did the smartest thing for Draco. She _knew,_ should anyone attempt to do anything to hurt him, you would be there. She did what she had to do and thus, gave him the best protection possible.”

I sigh. “So I take it you won’t help him, then?”

“That’s not what I said,” he retorts. “What do you need my help for?”

I choose my words carefully. “Draco’s memory has been altered by his stay in Azkaban. He doesn’t remember anything prior to his imprisonment. Right now, he needs to remember what he was, what his life was before it all happened. He’s… changed.”

I hesitate, but decide not to go into details too much. “I have a Healer working with him daily, and it helps a lot, but it’s not enough because she’s not a part of his past; she didn’t know him before. That’s why I need you. I need you to come over to my house and talk to him, talk about what you used to do together, how you used to be at Hogwarts. I'm hoping it will help him remember.”

“That’s it? That’s all you want me to do?”

“Well, yeah.” I shrug. “But then, I wouldn’t want it to hurt your _reputation_.”

He narrows his eyes, and takes a long time to answer me. “Give me your address.”

“Are you-”

“Let’s say things are moving fast and anyway, a lot has changed in the last few years.”

“Right.”

I try to hide my excitement as I write my address on a piece of parchment.

He will help. He will come over. When I finally leave the building, a timid ray of sunlight brings extra warmth to my body as I walk back to the Apparition point lighter than I have felt in weeks.

 

  **\- V -**

My little trip outside was interesting, but I’m happy to be home again. I close the door and throw the jacket on the coat rack and freeze when I hear Draco’s voice.

“Harry!”

I’m used to Draco calling my name in various circumstances, but this time, it sounds different. I walk to the bottom of the stairs.

“Draco, I’m home!”

“Harry!” I hear again and this time, there is no mistake. I leap up the stairs and my heart skips a beat when I realise what is happening right in front of my eyes.

Draco is standing on the landing, right hand clenched into a fist against the wall, his left hand in Anna’s. All three doors - bathroom, my bedroom and Draco’s - are open and yet, here he is.

“Harry.” His face lights up, and a beautiful grin directed at me makes my eyes tingle as I just can’t believe what I’m seeing.

I can’t believe he’s finally overcome one of his biggest fears and managed to leave his room. He looks very proud of himself, and at the same time, I can tell he’s very expectant, waiting for me to react, as if what mattered in the end wasn’t what he’d just accomplished but my reaction to it.

I run to him as I climb the last few steps and take him in my arms in an urgent hug.

I let my hands run through his beautiful soft hair, then all the way down to the small of his back, burying my face in his neck.

“I’m so proud of you, Draco, so, so proud of you. Well done.” I murmur in his ear as he’s left Anna’s hand to hold me tight, his arms wrapped around my back. I feel a lump forming in my throat because Draco has come so far! A single tear runs down my cheek.

He breaks the embrace, and our eyes meet before he brushes my tear away with his finger in a soft caress.

I have no idea what is going on through his head right this instant, absolutely no idea, but he seems to be thinking real hard.

He leans forward and places a delicate, soft, chaste kiss on my lips before taking me back in his arms.

And then he rocks with me, all the while whispering in my ear, “It’s okay, Harry, it’s okay.”

 

**\- VI -**

“Right. Draco, are you ready to go on an exploration of the first floor?” Anna asks, reminding us of her presence.

Draco pulls away from me and grabs my hand, holding it tight, unwilling to let go. “With Harry.”

“Of course, with Harry,” she smiles at him. “Why don’t we start with the bathroom?”

“Sure. You ready, Draco?”

He’s tense. I can feel him stiffen next to me. I try to imagine what it would be like to finally discover what lies beyond a door after spending months in just one room. It seems unbelievable, and yet, here we are.

“Okay, Draco.” Anna makes him look at her. “Remember what we’ve worked on?”

He nods slowly before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath through his nose, and then exhaling slowly through his mouth and doing it all over again. I raise my eyebrow at Anna who silently entreats me to trust her.

Relaxation.

I wonder what the old Draco would have thought of this Muggle way of keeping panic at bay.

It seems to do the trick though, and he slowly opens his eyes, and the grip on my hand is not as strong as it was before.

“Ready?” I ask him again.

He nods, a determined look in his eyes.

“Right, here is the bathroom; it’s only a few steps away from you, and you can already see a good part of it.”

I follow Draco as he hesitantly takes a few steps and stops dead on the threshold. I take a look at the bathroom that used to be mine before I moved in with Draco. It looks a bit empty now without my towels and toiletries, but it’s a nice size.

“See? This is another bathroom that’s a bit bigger than ours, but that you can use as well if you need it.”

I can tell that won’t happen any time soon. Draco seems eager to leave. I have no idea what goes on in his head, what at this precise moment, can trigger a negative reaction in him. I look at Anna who seems to be thinking the same thing.

“Right, ready to go and see the other bedroom?” she says enthusiastically.

“Yes.” And Draco seems very happy indeed to leave the bathroom, even though he has not even set a foot in it.

We all move to the next room.

This is - was - my bedroom. When I moved in, I immediately decided to turn the former drawing room into a master bedroom and make it mine, leaving the others for guests. But now, as I see it with new eyes, having spent a few weeks in the other one, I don’t understand why I picked this one over the other. It’s bigger, that’s for sure, but its windows look out into the street, while the other bedroom looks into the garden and is overall, much nicer.

Draco hesitates at the threshold, but as Anna is already in there, he seems to gather his courage. I can tell he’s curious as he enters, step after step, and looks around. There’s the huge, comfortable bed - and God, I remember what a pain it had been putting it together! It had taken three of us, Ron, Neville and me, and a lot of magic to be able to get it assembled. I smile at the recollection before realising Draco and Anna are both staring at me.

“Sorry, I-”

“It’s okay, Harry,” Anna says with a small smile.

On either side of it are the nightstands, and it’s easy to guess which side is mine by the pile of books and magazines spread on the floor. Draco starts wandering around the room, never leaving my hand and looking more comfortable as he touches the dark wooden furniture, including the wardrobe on the wall opposite the window.

This room is nothing special, but Draco seems to like it, and it's weird to see him so curious.

His thoughts seem to echo mine as he tightens his grip on my hand and takes me to the door.

“Done,” he simply says, eager to go out and back to his room now.

Anna sends me a reassuring look as we all leave my bedroom and Draco hurries back into his own. He lets go of my hand as soon as he’s passed the door and almost runs to his bed where he curls up in his favourite position, legs against his chest, arms wrapped around them, and starts rocking himself back and forth.

That’s when I realise what a huge step today has been. He did it. Draco managed to leave his room for the first time, and take a tour of the first floor of my house.

I sit next to him and take him in my arms. He's trembling slightly but I feel him relax into my embrace as he wraps himself around me and holds me back.

“Well done, Draco. I am so proud of you; look at what you’ve accomplished today!” I say, pressing soft kisses to the top of his head and caressing his hair.

“Yes, you’ve done a lot, Draco!” Anna adds with her usual enthusiasm.

I turn to look at him but he’s not listening anymore.

He’s fallen asleep in my arms.

 

**\- VII -**

That night, to celebrate Draco’s accomplishment, I decide to cook my famous beef stew for Ron and Hermione.

I’ve done it so many times in the past that I could do it with my eyes closed. Cooking has always been one of my ways to unwind. It’s always helped me think things through while my hands were busy chopping and slicing.

It’s funny, really, how you never completely forget how to do things. I haven’t cooked in God knows how long - several months? Years? - and yet, it all comes back to me easily. I had forgotten how fun cooking was. What pleasure it brings to combine ingredients together and make something nice to eat.

I’m nearly finished - and it all smells really nice - when I hear the Floo roar in the next room. I put the lid on the stew, letting the meat and veggies simmer before I head to the living room.

“Harry!”

Hermione takes me in a huge hug as if I hadn’t seen her just a couple of days ago. She pulls back, a slight frown on her face. “Smells nice in here. Let me guess, stew?”

“Yep.”

“Is it…” she hesitates. “Did you order it?”

“No, I made it.”

She takes a step back and looks at me like I’ve just announced I’m moving to another planet.

“Harry, you cooked?” The look of utter surprise on her face makes me wince.

“Well, yeah, we have something to celebrate today.” I smile.

“Oh?” She heads to the couch and I sit on my armchair. “Tell me all about it.”

There’s something about the way she looks at me that makes me slightly uncomfortable, but I can’t really place it. She looks concerned, but that’s not all. There’s something else.

I tell her about Draco’s progress and how he managed to leave his room for the first time this morning. I also tell her how it seems to have taken a toll on him, because he slept for most of the afternoon. I talk to her, and she just listens to me, oddly quiet, looking at me like there’s - I don’t know, like I’m not quite what she expects.

“Well, that’s great for Draco, I’m happy he’s finally getting there.”

“Spit it out, Hermione.”

“What?”

“Oh come on, don't mess with me. I know you; there’s something bothering you, so please, get on with it.”

“I- er, all right.” She takes a deep breath and looks straight into my eyes. “I’m just, surprised to see how different you are these days. I mean, I’m very, very happy to see you finally opening up more and doing stuff, like cooking. God, I was wondering when you would finally start cooking again because you used to love it and it’s been-”

“Hermione,” I cut her off, “to the point.”

She sighs. “Right, I’m worried about you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What? Why?”

She ignores my questions. “What is it exactly you’re feeling for Draco?”

Oh, so that’s it, then. What can I possibly say in answer to that?

“I- I like him. I like spending time with him, and having him around, I guess.” I shrug.

“That’s it?”

“I-”

Of course that’s not it. But I’ve worked so hard over the last few weeks to bury my feelings deep inside and NOT to think about them at all so they won't resurface, especially not in front of the most perceptive person I know. The person who knows me better than I know myself.

“Harry,” she takes my hand in hers. “You do realise this is a very temporary situation, and that Draco will eventually leave?”

“Why, of course I do.”

“Have you ever thought about what might happen if Draco really gets better?”

“ _When_ Draco gets better, not _if_ , Hermione,” I manage to say.

She frowns. “Have you?”

I have. Well, not really. Every time I start to think about it, I manage to push the thoughts away.

“A bit,” I simply say in a breath.

“And?”

“And I don’t know.”

She pulls back and folds her arms across her chest.

“What if Draco returns to his old self completely? What if he’s back to being what he was before? What if he-”

“I don’t know, okay?” I yell, standing up at once. I hate to take it on her, but her questions faze me.

“Harry?”

Hermione and I both turn our heads in the direction of the ceiling. Brilliant. I woke him up.

“It’s okay, Draco. I’ll come and see you in a minute.” I try to suppress the trembling in my voice. I turn to Hermione. “I dunno, Hermione. I don’t have the answers to that. I- I’m confused right now, and I don’t really know where I stand, and I think I just need time, okay?”

She scrutinises me for a while. “Right, I’m sorry to push you, but I really want you to be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know. I’ll think about it.”

“I’m here for you, Harry; you know it. And Ron as well. His work keeps him busy, but you know he thinks about you all the time and he wants you to be happy.”

The Floo roars. “Speaking of the devil.”

Ron steps into my living room, pointing an accusing finger at me. “Don’t tell me you’ve made stew. Blimey, I’m starving.” He smiles at Hermione and kisses her briefly on the lips, bringing her closer. “Evening, you,” he says in a slightly husky voice.

"Harry?" Draco's voice calls from upstairs. I look at the ceiling and then back to the kitchen.

“Could you…” I start to say, but Hermione cuts me off.

“Yes, go and see him. We’ll finish up, and set the table.”

“Thanks.”

As I rush to the stairs, Ron gives me a thumbs up, and when I reach Draco's room to reassure him, I'm all smiles.

 

**\- VIII -**

Draco sleeps a lot for a couple of days. Apparently, getting out of his room has taken quite a toll on his body, but apart from that, he doesn’t seem any different than before. And yet, I have a hard time believing just how much progress he has made since coming here, and how much is going to happen over the next few weeks.

This is what I’m thinking about, lying awake in the middle of the night. I'm having trouble sleeping lately. Draco’s nightmares are still present but far less frequent than they used to be, going from a couple every night to about once a week now.

But that’s not what prevents me from sleeping as before, no. It’s something else I can’t really explain. It’s like my brain is overworking at night, bringing to the surface thoughts I work hard on burying during the day.

I spend most of my nights thinking about Terrence Burbage. I despise the guy for what he did to Draco. I despise him for stealing Draco’s youth and for taking away a part of him. And at the same time, I know what he’s been through and it’s hard to really hate him deep inside.

And when I don’t think about Terrence Burbage, other thoughts plague me. Draco and our ‘relationship’. That has been bothering me a lot lately, especially after talking to Hermione.

I’ve finally realised that I was in utter denial about the whole thing. Because I _am_ in love with Draco, as crazy as it sounds. And we _are_ in a relationship, no matter what I say. We are a couple, very much so. We sleep in the same bed; we share every single thing of our everyday life; we wash and shave together; I do his laundry and now even cook for him… This is all very domestic. The only missing part is the sex, and that’s only because I refuse to indulge in it.

But it’s torture to me, to be honest. Sleeping next to him, having his warm, hard body pressed against me every night, his frequent erections rubbing on me and the wet dreams. God, it’s getting harder for me to resist.

And I realise I compensate with kisses, the only thing I allow myself. I kiss him more and more every day, and the kisses are getting longer too. I’m addicted to his lips and to his taste. I really am. And he’s very willing to kiss me back, holding me close every time.

The whole thing is taking a toll on me. I have to hide in the loo to wank. It’s pathetic, really. I feel like I’m fifteen all over again. Hell, I’m hornier than when I was fifteen, because frankly, at the time, I had other things on my mind. It feels like my hormones remember I didn’t quite have a ‘normal’ adolescence and are catching up now, playing with my nerves.

It’s true that I haven’t been sexually active in God knows how long. My last boyfriend was Eric, I think. Yes, that’s it. Eric. Ron’s former Auror partner who left for Australia, putting an end to something that could have been but never will. Eric was nice and adventurous. I’ll never forget Ron’s face when he caught us in the act one day in his office. Eric was fun. But it was months ago; hell, it was over a year ago.

After that, I didn’t have anyone else. I had already started to shut myself off from the world, but Eric’s departure accelerated things and it all went downhill from there. I started staying home for extended periods of time, finding excuses not to go out with my friends until people stopped asking altogether. Which was fine by me, to be honest. That’s what I wanted. I was content with what I had. No more people watching my every step, no more ‘journalists’ hidden behind my bins waiting to flood me with their lame questions; it felt much better that way. Of course, my life wasn’t as exciting as before, but that was what I needed at the time. I had had too much excitement to last for a lifetime, after all.

 

**\- IX -**

_I come closer to him. I blink and then I’m on the other side of the road, but as soon as I find myself close enough to see his face, he turns around._  
  
 _I’m only a couple of feet from him now. I reach out for him. One more step and I’ll be able to see his face._  
  
 _My hand finally lands on his shoulder, but my fingers don’t meet the expected bony texture. It’s too soft, spongy even, like rotten flesh._  
  
 _Burbage slowly turns around._  
  
 _Two empty eye sockets and a gaping hole now face me and I try to run away but I trip on something and, oh God no! It’s Draco, and he’s lying there on the floor, and Burbage closes in on me, grabbing my shoulders and I can’t run. I can’t escape him and I scream and-_  
  
“Harry?”

I let out a gasp as I find myself sitting bolt upright in bed, Draco by my side, a worried look on his face. My heart is still pounding hard in my chest.

“Harry?” he says again.

I grab his hand and place it on my chest. “Draco. God, you’re- you’re-” I’m panting hard still. “I’m okay, don’t worry,” I say, smiling in a feeble attempt to reassure Draco. “I’m fine. It was just a bad dream.”

He cocks his head on the side and then takes his hand away. He removes a strand of hair from my damp forehead and cards his fingers through my hair.

He brings me to him and takes me in his arms, holding me tight. I wrap my arms around him and rest my forehead on his shoulder. A tremor courses through me as I push away the thought of how the Burbage in my dream had felt when I had touched him.

Draco’s hand runs circles over my back, and God it feels good. I know somewhere deep inside that I probably shouldn’t be so close to him, but it’s the middle of the night and I’ve just been really scared, and well…

My heartbeat slows down little by little, and I savour the moment, my nose filling with Draco’s scent, my lips gently brushing the skin of his neck, as if moving on their own accord. I shut down the part of my brain that still thinks this is not right, because how could it not be? How could something that feels so good be wrong in any way?

I part my lips and try to resist using my tongue, but it’s hard. I want to taste him so badly. I can’t stop my lips from running along his jawline, and I inhale deeply, my eyes closed and his cheek so soft against mine - fuck, it’s so soft and Draco’s scent is overwhelming. My mouth reaches his chin and I lose any ability to think.

His hand stills on my back as my lips find his and my heartbeat accelerates again, but this time, it’s for a very different reason. I lick Draco’s full lips and his breath catches. His tongue meets mine, and then we kiss and it’s just wonderful. It’s nothing like the chaste kisses we exchange every day, no. My body is on fire as I kiss him, and kiss him and kiss him, hungrily, like there’s no tomorrow, my fingers tangled in his hair. I hold him tighter against me before pushing him down and settling on top of him.

I can’t think anymore, my head is too full of Draco, the taste of him driving me insane, the little noises coming from his mouth that should be forbidden, and God I just can’t stop… I can’t. I roll my hips against him, and fuck, he answers my thrusts so earnestly it makes my head spin.

“Harry!” he cries into my mouth a few seconds after as he comes between us, his hips wild under me.

“Oh, Draco, I- Oh.” And I come as well, my cock rubbing frantically against him before I gradually slow down.

I’m still panting when I lean forward and press another soft kiss to his lips.

“Better?” he asks, and I smile against his lips.

“Hell, yes,” I say, kissing him again.

I move away from him and lie down on my pillow. He snuggles up next to me and I take him in my arms.

I don’t want to think about what happened just yet. For now, I want to savour it, savour the heat of his body against mine, savour his mere presence next to me, the unspeakable feelings that fill me as I slowly drift to sleep.

 

**\- X -**

_I enter the dark room and its humidity sticks to my clothes. The smell is pungent and makes my throat sting but I don’t stop. I walk slowly, step after careful step, unable to see what lies one foot ahead of me._  
  
 _The sound of my steps echoes against the bare walls and a sudden gust of wind rolls over me, making me shiver._  
  
 _My hand tenses on my wand and I squint my eyes a little to try and make out the dark shape on the floor in the corner._  
  
 _Its movements are jerky and little gasps escape it._  
  
 _I come closer and the form on the floor is now trembling so hard that it makes the rags covering it fall a little and a patch of blond hair appears underneath._  
  
 _It all happens so suddenly I don’t even have time to realise it is happening._  
  
 _A mass of hooded creatures that had probably been lurking in the dark start hovering all around him._  
  
 _I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out._  
  
 _I flick my wand but nothing happens. I wave it desperately to no avail._  
  
 _I try to move but my feet are stuck to the cold stone floor. Tears are running down my face as the creatures’ slimy scabbed hands reach for Draco, and in a minute it will be over, everything will be over, and I will lose him and-_  
  
I wake up with a start and it takes me a couple of seconds to realise I’m in my bed, in my house and not in some stinking cell in Azkaban. And Draco- Merlin, Draco’s asleep next to me, his lips slightly parted as he breathes softly. I try to calm my ragged breathing, but my blood is pounding in my ears.

I bend over him and place a barely-there kiss on top of his head, breathing in deeply, letting his scent invade my nostrils before I finally let out a breath of relief.

Bloody hell.

I get up in silence and retrieve my jeans and a white tee-shirt from the floor and put them on before I head downstairs.

I fill the kettle and put it on the stove before I turn it on. I lean against the kitchen counter waiting for it to come to a boil.

It has to stop. I can’t keep on like this, driving myself crazy over what happened to Draco in Azkaban. It’s just too much.

I slide my fingers into the back pocket of my jeans and retrieve the folded newspaper clipping of Charity Burbage’s tombstone.

_Mrs Burbage was buried in Hogsmeade yesterday._

Hogsmeade.

I could easily Apparate there. I could even use my Cloak. I could-

I jump as the kettle whistles and I pour the scalding water into my mug.

 

**\- XI -**

When Anna arrives at ten, I’ve made up my mind.

I tell them I need to go out, and Draco simply nods. I’m happy to see he feels confident enough now to stay with Anna in the house without me. Just before I leave the room though, he calls to me and plants a soft kiss on my lips.

I shiver as I put my Invisibility Cloak on. It’s much colder here than in London and there’s snow everywhere. It’s a weird sensation to be back in Hogsmeade after all these years. The familiar setting brings back memories of times long gone.

I take my time to wander along the main street, my steps muffled by the snow, letting the cold air brush my skin as I pass wizards and witches incognito, safely hidden beneath the Cloak. I pass Honeydukes and the sweet smell of chocolate fills my nostrils and follows me all the way to the post office, where I turn left into a smaller alley. As I walk down the path, moving away from the joyous sounds from the main street, I find myself in a less crowded area, surrounded by small thatch cottages with smoking chimneys.

I make my way to the end of the narrow street.

The church is a bog-standard Highland chapel with a lantern-like decoration at the top. It was built in the same grey stone as Hogwarts, and the thought crosses my mind that the two were probably built at the same time. I walk around the church and finally find myself in Hogsmeade’s graveyard.

I wander the cemetery and peer at the names on the headstones. Some of them look very old, and it’s difficult to read what’s written on them. I slowly let the eerie but peaceful atmosphere of the graveyard envelop me as I stroll among the rows of tombstones.

At the very end of the third row, I finally find what I'm looking for. Charity Burbage’s tomb looks exactly the same as the picture except for the colourful wreath of beautiful red and white roses that lie on a thin layer of snow. I can feel the magic keeping the flowers fresh, but under the spell, it’s easy to see someone’s been here recently.

My heart beats faster at the thought of Terrence Burbage still visiting his late wife’s grave. I notice a bench nearby, under a magnificent centenarian oak tree and decide to stay here a moment, still hidden by my Cloak.

I take out my wand and Vanish the snow on the bench. As soon as I sit, snow starts falling, and it adds to the odd atmosphere of the place.

It’s been a while since I’ve spent time in the open air like this, and it feels good, almost surreal. I take in my surroundings, paying attention to every single little noise. I take deep breaths, letting long-forgotten smells fill my nostrils.

I don’t know how long I stay on the bench, but after a while I’m really cold and decide to head home.

 

**\- XII -**

Are you all right in there?” I ask as I stand in the middle of our bedroom, flicking my wand to Summon all our clothes to the basket by my feet as Draco is taking his bath. “Draco?” I lower my wand and Draco’s shirts fall flat on the floor.

I hastily head for the bathroom and stop at the threshold.

Draco is sitting in the water, staring intently at his forearm resting on the side of the bathtub, while his fingers run slowly over it, following the patterns of- His Dark Mark.

It’s the first time he's actually acknowledged its presence on his arm. Until then, he had never given it a single glance.

I walk to him slowly, not wanting to scare him away. I kneel by the bathtub and search his face, before my eyes drop to his forearm.

“It’s your Dark Mark,” I say in a soft tone and he starts, shifting his gaze to look into my eyes. I can’t quite read his face, but I can see there’s a lot going on in his head.

His nod is hesitant.

“Do you- Do you know what it is? Do you remember?” I ask.

He shakes his head. Right. Maybe it’s better this way.

“What is it?” he murmurs.

“It was the rallying symbol of a group of people during the war.”

“The war?”

“Yes. You remember when I told you about the war?”

He nods again. Good.

“You remember I told you you’d made some bad choices and had been misguided when you were younger?” He nods again, hanging on every word I say. “Well, that was one of those bad choices. You were Marked and it meant you had joined the people I was fighting against. They were called Death Eaters.”

It’s nothing he doesn’t know, as we’ve already been through it before, but I am still a bit worried about his reaction.

“Enemies?” he asks, biting his bottom lip.

“I- Yes, we were enemies. But it’s over. The war is over and we’re not enemies anymore. I like you very much now.” And it’s stupid really, but I can feel my heart beat faster because it’s the first time I've expressed how I’m feeling for him with words.

He brings his hands to me and cups my face. His thumbs leave wet trails on my skin as he rubs them over my cheeks and water is dripping on my clothes. His eyes are locked on mine as he moves forward and places a soft kiss on my lips before pulling away.

“I love you,” he says in a deep, serious tone that sends shivers all over my body. 

 

**\- DRACO -**

“Draco?”

I jump as I hear his voice.

“God, you’re here. I’ve been looking for you for ages,” Harry says, coming closer to me. I don’t look at him. I am way too busy for that. The huge tapestry on the wall gets all my attention.

He presses his chest against my back and wraps me in his arms. I lean into him but I still can’t take my eyes off the wall. I can’t see it all, because there’s Harry’s wardrobe in front of it but I still can see-

“Me?” I ask him, pointing at my name embroidered in gold.

“Yes,” he murmurs against my neck, and places a soft kiss there.

I follow the thread leading to the two names linked to mine. I run my finger on them.

Lucius and Narcissa.

“They were your parents.”

 _My parents._ My. Parents. I have a past. And it’s displayed right there for me to contemplate.

“You’ve met them?” I ask in a whisper, unable to remove my fingers from my parents’ names.

“Yes,” Harry says.

My hand suddenly freezes on my mother’s name.

_They were your parents._

They _were_. Not are, _were_.

Something breaks inside of me, and my insides twist painfully. I try to breathe like Anna taught me but it’s too hard. I close my eyes. The panic doesn’t go away. I can feel it mounting inside me at an alarming rate. It’s just- This is way too-

“Draco?” Harry asks, an edge to his voice.

“No.” I shake my head. “No,” I say again and suddenly it’s too hot in here, and there’s no air, and I can’t breathe, and I’m suffocating and I just- I have to go.

I fight Harry, trying to disentangle myself from him, and I shove him away and I run out of the room, and I just can’t stop, and I open the door of my room as fast as I can and rush to the bed and finally I’m safe.

I run a trembling hand under my mattress and sweet Salazar! It’s there, my paper, and I take it in my hand and bring it to my heart, and Harry is here now and I close my eyes. I bring my knees against my chest, caressing my paper frantically with my thumb as I start rocking myself because this is all too much and I’m going to drown and-

“Draco.”

Harry is around me in no time, and he wraps me in his arms again, but I just can’t stop rocking, and I can’t open my eyes.

“Shh, Draco, that’s all right, you’re going to be fine,” he says over and over again, but his words don’t reach me because I had a family. I had parents. And I can’t- It’s just. I had parents. I had parents. Lucius and Narcissa. Lucius and Narcissa. Lucius. Narcissa.

Lucius.

Narcissa.

I had parents. Parents. A father. A mother.

I didn’t come from nowhere.

And Harry has met my parents, and I can’t even remember them and-

I flick my eyes open. “Why?” Because it all comes down to that in the end.

“Draco,” Harry says against my head and something breaks again deep inside of me and I just want to cry.

And then I do.

I can’t help the tears from falling down my cheeks, down my chest, and I cry, I cry, I cry, because I had parents and now I don’t have them anymore, and they’re not around and I can’t even picture them and I just- I want to be with them and I can’t. And Harry keeps holding me tight, and he keeps telling me gentle things, but I don’t care because I’m an orphan.

I’m an orphan and I have no memory of my parents.

“They loved you very much,” Harry says and I whimper. I press my lips together but I just can’t stop the tears falling from my eyes and Merlin I’m such a baby crying for his mummy and daddy!

“They did everything they could for you. Your mum,” he pauses and shifts his head a little, running his hand against my cheek until I will my eyes open. “Your mum saved me. She- she saved my life. She was very brave.”

“My father?” I ask in a sob.

“Your father- your father was a very powerful wizard. He was very rich and you all lived in a Manor house. Your father- You know I told you he was a Death Eater and we-” he pauses. “We didn’t get on with each other. Not at all. He was on Voldemort’s side and did terrible things.”

I can tell it is hard for him to tell me these things but I’m grateful because Harry always tells me the truth, no matter how hard it is and I love him even more for that. He never hides anything from me.

“But in the end- In the end he helped, just like you did.”

“He did?”

“Yes. He helped capture the remaining Death Eaters that had disappeared when Voldemort died. He really did help.”

It feels good to know my father wasn’t a bad man deep inside. That he did something good in the end, just like I did.

“And my mum?”

“Well, like I told you, she saved me.”

“How?”

“It’s- It’s complicated, Draco-”

“How?” I insist.

He takes a deep breath. “Voldemort had cast the killing curse on me, but I wasn’t dead.” I raise an eyebrow. “That’s a long story, and it will be for some other time.” He smiles. He has no idea how warm it makes me when he smiles like that.

“So I was just lying there on the cold ground of the Forbidden Forest and Voldemort, he- He asked your mum to check if I was still alive.”

My heart beats faster as he goes on. “She knelt next to me and placed her hand on my heart and then she…” He removes a strand of hair from my eyes and I can see the love in his eyes. So much love.

I kiss him.

“Continue,” I murmur against his lips before letting my head fall back on his shoulder.

“She asked me about you. If you were alive. She took tremendous risks, but she did it because you were all that mattered to her. You meant the world to her, and she loved you so much.”

I look at the ceiling, trying to process the words, letting them turn over and over in my head until it’s all a buzzing mess.

His kisses bring me back to the here and now.

“I told her you were alive, and then she told Voldemort I was dead. She was very brave, you know? Because had she not done that, I would never have been able to go back to the castle and put an end to it all.”

“I want to see them.”

He looks puzzled for a second and then his face softens again. “I know.”

“You have pictures?”

“Pictures?” He frowns and takes a moment to think. “I don’t- No. But I think there is- Yeah, maybe there’s something we-” He takes a look at me. “Let me think about it, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Yes, Draco, I promise.”

A hiccough escapes my lips and suddenly I laugh. It startles Harry, but he smiles at me, and then I laugh again, and soon I just can’t help myself. I laugh while tears stream down my cheeks - I didn’t even know I was still crying - and Harry never lets go of me. Harry kisses me softly and makes things better just by being here, because that’s what he does, Harry.

We stay close together, and Harry rocks with me and I’m exhausted. I let myself go completely, let my body relax in his embrace because I don’t have parents anymore, but I have Harry. And Harry will always be here with me. He will never go. I won’t let him. I belong to Harry and he belongs to me.

His name is on my lips as I drift off to sleep in his arms.

 

_**Five** _

_**** _

**\- HARRY -**

**\- I -**

_March 2003_  
It’s an odd experience to realise things are changing. Transitions are smooth, usually, but there is always a point when you wake up one day and the world around you looks exactly the same as it had when you went to bed and yet, it feels different.

Or maybe it’s just our perception of things.

Today is Tuesday, so Ron is here for lunch, but he’s not alone: Hermione and Anna have joined us. So here we are, the four of us, in my kitchen. The smell of curry is very present in every room of the ground floor. I’m sure even Draco can smell it from his bedroom.

Draco is indeed upstairs. It took him a whole week to leave his room again after that first memorable time, and it was only for a very short trip to my own former bedroom to retrieve some books and magazines. He didn’t stay more than a minute there overall and almost ran back to our quarters. I’m a bit disappointed things are not going faster, to be honest; I don’t know why but I somehow expected him to be wandering about the house just days after his first attempt, and had fantasised about us having dinner in the kitchen after a week. We’re not quite there yet. I suppose I just have to be patient.

“So, how’s Zabini?” Ron says from across the table, in between two mouthfuls of curry.

“He’s… disconcerting. I still don’t quite know what to think of him, to be honest.”

“But will he help?”

“Yes, he’ll come. I can’t wait to see how Draco reacts to him,” I say.

Hermione and Anna exchange a look that makes me uncomfortable.

I frown. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Hermione says. “But we’ve talked about that with Anna quite a lot lately, and to be honest, we’re not sure a simple talk with Blaise Zabini will be enough to help Draco remember his past, although we definitely have to try it.”

My hand holding a forkful of curry freezes up in the air. “Oh.”

I had naively thought that it would only take Zabini to come over to my place, talk to Draco for a couple of hours about their common past and that that would be it, Draco would remember and get better.

Apparently, it’s not that simple.

“Yes,” Anna steps in, putting her fork and knife on the side of her plate and shifting a little next to me on her chair. “Don’t get us wrong, Harry, it’s good for Draco to start seeing more people. Improving his social skills is an essential aspect of the recovery process. He needs to interact with more people, to get used to them, and learn again how to act around them. Don’t forget that the main goal is to arm Draco, to make him less and less dependent so that he’s finally able to live on his own one day.”

A shiver runs down my spine at Anna’s words.

“But?”

“But like I said,” Hermione says, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “Meeting Zabini or other people from his past won’t be enough for Draco to get his memory back.”

“We think the best chance for Draco to remember is to have him see things for himself,” says Anna. “As wizards and witches, we have access to a wider range of possibilities than Muggles in this department, so we’d better use them.”

“You mean-”

“The easiest way to do so, is, in our opinion, a Pensieve.”

Of course, that makes sense.

“But we can’t use a regular one,” Hermione provides. “Because we can’t leave Draco on his own with all these memories, good or bad. We still don’t know how he will react to them, so we need to be there with him. At least Anna and you, Harry.”

She pauses to take a sip of water. I love how she unconsciously goes all business-like when she’s excited about something. I’m in awe of her, I really am. She’s a brilliant, sharp mind, and she’s found her niche in the research field and she revels in it.

“What do you have in mind, then?”

“I was thinking of an enlarged Pensieve that would allow several people to see the memories at the same time. This way, Anna would be able to monitor Draco’s reactions to them, and take him out should he react badly to something he sees.”

“Yes, and it would also allow me to work on these memories with Draco afterwards, knowing what exactly he’s been through.”

“Wait a minute,” Ron says, taking a break from his eating. “How are you going to get memories for the Pensieve?”

“Well, there’s already the three of you,” says Anna with a smile. “You all have memories of Draco from when you were at school together, so it’s a start.”

“That we do,” Ron mutters, before attacking his curry again.

“And there’s Zabini, too. He’s shared a dorm with Draco for years, so he probably have more memories than we do, and more pleasant ones as well,” I say.

“Exactly.”

“I’ll owl him this afternoon.” I’m starting to get excited about the whole thing. I wonder if Pensieves have ever been used to treat memory troubles before. “It really is a great idea, using a Pensieve to show him memories. It’s brilliant.”

“Thanks,” says Hermione. “Although we’ll have to be very careful with what we do with it.”

“True,” Anna says. “I’ll have to work a lot with Draco before we can start to show him anything. And even then, we’ll take it very slowly, one step at a time. And that’s not all.”

“Oh?”

Hermione pushes her plate away from her. “I’ve been working on something.”

The room is very quiet. Even Ron’s stopped chewing on his food for a moment to listen to what Hermione has to say.

“The research is still in its early stages, but the idea is to develop a spell that would allow Draco to use other people’s memories to access his own, in the hope that this way, his own memories will mingle with the ones from the Pensieve and stay available to him at all times.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’ve lost me there, I’m sorry.”

Anna steps in. “You know that, even for Muggles, reliving the past can be a way to bring back buried memories?”

I nod.

“Well, this is exactly what Hermione intends to do with this spell. Let’s say we’re all watching a memory coming from Blaise Zabini for example. We watch the memory in the Pensieve, and then at one point the memory stops. Now either nothing happens and we just step out of the Pensieve and are done with the session. Or-”

“Or the spell somehow manages to dig a bit further into Draco’s brain and unearth Draco’s own memory of the same event, bringing it to the front of his mind and making it real for him again,” Hermione finishes.

I realise I am gaping in the most undignified manner, but I’m speechless, I really am.

“Are you doing this at work?”

“Not exactly, no,” Hermione says, her cheeks reddening a little.

“You mean you’re doing it in your free time?”

She shrugs. “Yeah, well, you know me.”

I send her an odd look. Only Hermione would research on her free time for fun.

“Relax, mate,” Ron says, his mouth full of curry once again. “Hermione’s work is her hobby. It’s work-free days that give her cold sweats.”

Hermione scolds him.

“You sure it’s not too much?” I ask because, well, I don’t want Hermione to spend all of her free time on me, no matter what Ron says.

She shakes her head. “Of course not, it’s fun, and exciting and-”

“See?” Ron says, gesturing with his hand holding his fork towards Hermione. A little bit of lamb falls on the table and Ron hastily picks it up and pops it into his mouth.

I turn back to Anna and Hermione. “God, you’re amazing. I can’t believe things are really moving forward.”

“They are,” Anna says. “But you’ll have to be patient. It will take time.”

“True,” Hermione says, “We still have a lot to do: I need to find a Pensieve, then work on it as soon as possible, as well as on the spell.”

“And you’ll have to think about which memories you want to show Draco,” Anna says. “I know you all have quite a history with him, and it’s okay, really, because it’s important for Draco to see what really happened and how he interacted with people back then. But try to somehow balance these memories with at least one good thing if you can.”

I can’t help raising an eyebrow at Ron who looks appalled. Poor Ron didn’t get a chance to see Draco from a different perspective since the war.

“Okay, but that won’t be easy,” he says reluctantly.

I smile at him. “Thanks, mate, it means a lot to me.”

“I know, and that’s the only reason I’m doing this, you know?”

“I do, and I appreciate the effort.”

“Well, that’ll cost you a couple of pints at the Leaky,” Ron says jokingly.

Because he must be joking, right? He knows I haven’t been out in months and I am not planning to do so anytime soon. Leaving the house the other day was one thing, and I did it because there wasn’t really much alternative to it but I certainly have no plans to do that again anytime soon.

“Right, I’ve got to go,” Anna says standing up. “Thank you for the meal, Harry. It was perfect,” and she takes me in a tight hug.

“You’re very welcome.”

“Right, we’ll see you later, too, Harry.” Hermione stands up as well and heads for the Floo.

 

**\- II -**

I go back to Hogsmeade a lot over the next couple of weeks. Now that I know where Charity Burbage is buried, I have this insane hope that one day I’ll stumble on Terrence visiting his wife’s grave.

I have no plan, of course. All I want is a chance to see him, to see the man responsible for Draco’s condition. Deep inside, I hope that it’ll help the nightmares go away and that it’ll bring a sense of closure.

And so I sit on what I now call _my_ bench, and wait.

I’m busy observing a bird hopping from branch to branch in the magnificent oak tree when, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a movement on my right. I swiftly turn my attention back to the graves and my heart beats faster as a middle-aged man makes his way through the narrow alleys. He doesn’t hesitate and heads straight to Charity’s headstone.

I hold my breath under my Cloak as I see him for the first time since the trials.

What strikes me first is how much older he looks. I stare at him in weird fascination as he as he takes out his wand and removes the snow from the grave. He then moves his wand in a circle above the grave and adds a bunch of fresh pink roses to the already beautiful wreath. He stays still for a while, and I can see his lips move, even though I can’t hear what he’s saying. I’m too far away, and anyway, it’s much better this way. This is not my story.

After a while, he leaves the grave and heads towards the exit.

I decide to follow him. I cast a quick Silencing Charm over myself and saunter closer to him as he leaves the graveyard and heads back to the heart of the village. Instead of joining the main street, he takes a left just before the back entrance of the post office and I find myself in another tiny street bordered with lovely little cottages with tiny snow-covered gardens at the front. Burbage says hello to a couple of wizards he meets on the way, and I fleetingly wonder if these people know what he is capable of.

What would they think if they knew about what he'd done. Maybe they’d approve.

About halfway down the tiny street, Burbage finally stops and pushes a small iron gate. I stop at once and follow him with my eyes as he walks up the path leading to the front door of his cottage. He climbs a couple of steps, stomps his feet to remove the snow stuck to his boots and disappears inside.

I find myself all alone and strangely empty.

I’ve seen him. I’ve finally seen the man’s face again. And I’m not feeling better. I’m feeling… uncomfortable to be honest, like an intruder in someone else’s life. A shiver courses down my spine as I hastily make my way back home, hoping against hope that, at least, the nightmares will leave me alone for a while.

 

**\- III -**

They don’t.

The nightmares are still very present, but they’ve changed a little since I saw Burbage. Now Burbage has a face, and the nightmares are not as scary as they were before. They mostly consist of Burbage following me in the snow, although he never manages to catch me.

But the nightmares are not what is keeping me awake. Ever since we’ve talked about showing Draco memories from the past, I can’t stop thinking about what it will do to him. Sometimes I wish I could jump into the future and see where we will all be in a year’s time.

Today is another important day. So important that I really had trouble falling asleep last night and woke up very early this morning.

After tossing and turning for a while, I leave Draco still sleeping in our bed and make my way downstairs. I put the kettle on and head for the living room while the water boils.

I open the drawer of the glass-fronted cabinet and take out Draco’s wand.

It still feels very familiar in my hand even though I haven’t used it in years. I didn’t want to use a wand that didn’t belong to me in the first place and anyway, I had mine. So I put Draco’s in the drawer, thinking I would return it to him after he’d done his sentence. But things didn’t really happen like I had planned.

When Anna arrives at ten, Draco is awake and ready. They have spent quite a few sessions working on Draco’s magic over the past couple of weeks. He knows what to expect and is not surprised when I take his wand out. I wasn’t too sure when Anna first told me about her plans. I thought it was still a bit too soon for Draco to use magic, but she assured me he was ready, and that the sooner he rekindled with what he was, the better.

“Okay, Draco, this is it,” Anna starts as she sits in the chair facing Draco and me on the bed. “This is your wand, the one that chose you when you were eleven.”

Draco narrows his eyes a little and leans forward, taking a closer look at it without touching it yet. _Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy._ I can still hear Ollivander’s description as clearly as if it were yesterday.

“Harry and I both have wands ourselves, as you know,” she continues.

Indeed, even though I’m pretty good at wandless spells now, I still use my wand every day for various tasks, so Draco is familiar with the concept. I’ve even caught him a few times practising with an ‘air’ wand, imitating my gestures when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Anna and I both take our wands out to show Draco who nods. But we don’t only take them out to show him; we need to have them ready should anything go wrong once Draco tries it himself.

“Harry, you ready?” Anna asks me.

I take a deep breath. “Yes. Here, Draco, it’s yours.”

Draco searches my face for what seems to be hours. I can’t help thinking how much Draco trusts me and how willing he is to do as I tell him, how dependent he is on me. The thought scares me a little, to be honest, but I push it away and focus my attention back on him.

Draco reaches for his wand and I hold my breath. How will it behave in his hands? Will it go back to its original master?

As soon as his fingers close on it, I feel a tingle of magic at work, encircling our hands as we are both holding it. I let it go and Draco brings it closer to his face, taking a good look at it. He looks at it for a long while, examining it from every angle.

“Right, I’m going to show you the first spell you’re going to practice, okay?” Anna asks him.

Draco nods and we both stay silent on the bed as she takes out a small piece of parchment from her pocket. Draco’s face changes at once at the sight of it and in the course of barely one second he looks completely panicked. Anna and I frown at each other and then Draco shoves me hard, forcing me to stand up from the bed.

“Draco?” I ask, still not understanding what this is all about, but Draco isn’t listening to me. He seems to be completely somewhere else as his hands are now under the mattress, frantically searching under it.

And then his face relaxes at once as he slowly takes his hands out and a huge sigh of relief escapes his lips.

I come closer. He is holding something in his fingers.

A piece of paper similar to the one Anna’s just taken from her pocket.

I am confused. What the hell is this paper doing under the mattress? I have never ever seen it before. It’s rather small and crumpled and there doesn’t seem to be anything written on it.

“What’s that?”

He is still staring at his piece of paper, running his thumb on it lovingly before he finally looks up and meets my eyes.

“Home,” he simply states.

I look at Anna, who seems as puzzled as I am.

“Home?”

He nods again.

“What do you mean, ‘home’?”

His eyes flick from mine to his piece of paper a few times.

Anna steps in. “Draco, would you like to use it for your experiment?” she asks softly and I can see Draco hesitating.

He finally nods and Anna sets her own piece of paper on the bed. I still have no idea about what just happened, but at least, a potential crisis has been averted and Draco’s attention is now fully back on Anna.

She points her wand to the piece of paper on the bed and says in a clear voice, _“Wingardium Leviosa!”_

I am instantly taken back to my first lesson with Flitwick in Charms. After all those years, I can almost hear Hermione’s annoyed tone as she tried to explain to a perplexed Ron how to make the feather fly up in the air.

Draco gasps at the sight of the paper rising up above the bed, before Anna gently sets it back down.

I turn to Draco. “You want to do it with your own paper, then?” I ask, feeling that this tiny crumpled bit of parchment may be rather important to Draco, even if I don’t know the reason why.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I say. “You just have to say the words very carefully, exactly as I say them. I think we should just practice saying them a couple of times before you actually use your wand.”

Draco tentatively says the words a few times, until he can say them perfectly.

“Now, look how I’m doing this.”

I swish and flick, just like Flitwick taught me all those years ago and Draco watches me, fascinated.

“Your turn now, Draco,” Anna says. “You ready?”

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

He opens his eyes and raises his wand, waving it slowly. His voice is barely above a whisper when he says the words.

_“Wingardium Leviosa.”_

Nothing happens.

Draco looks at me.

“It’s okay, Draco, it takes a bit of practice, but you can do it,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.

He tries again, without any more success and my heart breaks.

“Look, Draco. You have to make wider movements with your hand and at the same time, say the words clearer and louder, okay?”

I place myself behind him and take his wand hand in mine, showing him the movements several times. I then release my hand and Draco practises the gesture again and again.

His lips are tightly sealed and his brows are furrowed in concentration as he tries again. And this time, something happens. It’s not much, but it’s there. A murmur of magic reaches me as the tiny bit of paper moves almost imperceptibly. But I saw it and Draco saw it too.

“That’s it, Draco, nearly there, come on,” I say with renewed enthusiasm.

 _“Wingardium Leviosa,”_ he says again, voice more assured now, and this time, this is it. The paper rises a couple of inches above the bedcovers and I can’t help laughing.

“Draco, you did it!” I lunge at him and hold him tight and he laughs as well, and God it’s good to hear this clear, sincere sound coming from his chest!

But soon he gently pushes me away and places his paper back on the bedcovers and tries again. And again. And again. And every time, the paper flies higher, until it finally reaches the ceiling.

 

**\- IV -**

Draco practises his magic every day. It’s going pretty well, even if Draco is not close to being the wizard he used to be, but we’re getting there and it’s a wonderful thing to see him all playful with his ‘new’ skills.

I take great pleasure in teaching him new spells. It takes me back to the secret meetings of the DA in fifth year. Every time Draco masters a new spell, I get the same thrill I did back then; the joy of helping someone perform a complicated task and get better at it is unmatched.

And it also affects Draco’s general behaviour: he’s more open and relaxed than he’s ever been, and his speech improves a lot as well. I often hear his and Anna’s laughter when I’m downstairs in the living room, and really, I should thank Hermione for sending us such an amazing woman.

She’s always in a good mood, always smiling no matter what. Everything looks so simple and easy and with her, there are no problems, just solutions. She’s brilliant and Draco is very fond of her. So am I.

Hermione and Ron are at my place more often these days too, and it’s really nice.

There were times last year when I just couldn’t stand having people around, but things are changing, hopefully for the better. The three of us talk a lot about Draco of course, our history with him and also what’s happened to him, but we also talk about other things and sometimes, I can even forget all that’s happened and be my old self for a while. It’s a very nice feeling.

 

**\- V -**

Oh God this is good.

It’s dark and my eyes are closed anyway, but it’s all for the better. My other senses are fully in alert.

I’m in some sort of haze, and don’t quite know what causes this odd state of mind. I feel like in a dream. Am I dreaming? Yes, I probably am.

Because nothing can feel remotely as good as this in real life.

My body is on fire, so sensitive that every single touch on it, every single brush against my skin seems to awaken sensations long gone. This is crazy.

I cling to the soft press of warm fingers caressing my legs gently, unwilling to open my eyes, afraid it would all go if I did.

My whole being is focused on each and every touch and I start moaning as the fingers move up, up, up.

Oh Merlin, yes!

My dick is harder than ever, and aches to be touched. God, I ache to be touched there!

But the soft fingers only tease me, keep running lightly, almost feather-like at the top of my thighs, getting closer every time but never quite making it there.

And it’s not only the fingers on my lower body, no, it’s also the soft kisses pressed on my chest, the warm tongue running over my nipples, making them hard at once, and soft hair brushing against my neck.

It’s all of that, and it’s all too much.

I’m dying.

And then a soft light appears through my eyelids and everything stops at once.

No!

I refuse to open my eyes, I don’t want the whole thing to stop, it was all so good!

But then I hear Draco’s voice next to me.

“Harry?”

I open my eyes and Draco is leaning over me, my wand in his left hand, bringing light to my face.

Draco’s cast a _Lumos_.

Wow. It’s the first time he's done magic on his own like that.

“I- It’s okay, Draco. I’m fine, don’t worry.”

Shit, I really was dreaming, and Draco caught me red-handed, so to speak.

He moves his hand holding the wand and runs the small light over my body. His breath catches when he sees my tented boxers and he looks back up into my eyes.

“Harry…” he says again, licking his lips.

Uh-oh. Not good.

“We should- we should go back to sleep,” I manage to say, because it’s the right thing to do. I can’t keep on giving in to my desire like I’ve been doing.

I gently take my wand back and turn the light off, before discarding it on the nightstand.

There’s a full moon so despite it being the middle of the night, I can make out Draco’s features quite easily, and can tell that he hasn’t moved. I feel his warm breath still close to me, as if he's not sure what to do next.

I close my eyes, and try to will my persistent erection away, without much success.

I’ll probably have to wait for Draco to go back to sleep before getting up and acting on it. For now, I’m stuck.

But then, Draco doesn’t seem to really want to go back to sleep and I’m starting to worry. I worry because I know my resolve is melting like snow on a bright sunny day. And right now, it wouldn’t take much to forget all about my good resolutions.

Again.

But, fuck this is hard.

Because I want it. God, I want it so badly.

And I know he wants it too.

It would be so easy to-

No.

“Draco?” I call in the semi-darkness.

“Yes,” he murmurs. His voice is shaky.

“Draco, it’s okay, go back to sleep n-”

I stop dead when Draco’s hand comes to rest on my underpants and my hips jerk up at the touch.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I open my mouth to say something, anything really, but Draco’s hand on me feels so good that any form of protest dies in my throat.

He takes that as an encouragement and applies more pressure on my hard-on.

“Drac- _oh!_ ” I gasp as he palms my cock and rubs his hand back and forth on it slowly, and I lose any ability to speak.

My toes curl and I close my eyes because, fuck, this is so, so good, and even though I know deep inside that this is not the best thing to do, I am too far gone to stop myself now.

My hips thrust up on their own accord to try and get more pressure from his hand but Draco removes it and I freeze.

Shit. Have I scared him away?

The answer comes quickly enough when his warm hand sneaks under the elastic band of my boxers and he takes me in his hand and this time, I really think I’m going to die.

This is all too much. The hot dream, the sensations, the soft whispers coming from Draco’s lips, his warm hand encircling me like that, I won’t last.

I put a hand on his chest and he jumps at the touch but then I let my fingertips brush their way downward and stop at the elastic band of his boxers. He nods frantically and moans when I slip my hand in his pants and circle my fingers around his shaft and here I am, finally, finally touching what I’ve been dreaming to touch for ages. I’ve never felt anything so good, and the fact that it’s Draco, the man I am so in love with, well, it changes everything. I have been denying myself so much lately, that this- this is simply Heaven. Draco thrusts against my hand and pants hard above me as I increase the pace.

It's fucking amazing. I writhe on the bed, breathe heavily, kick the sheets back in the process, barely remembering my own name as Draco’s hand moves faster and faster still, never relenting, back and forth, back and forth and oh fuck, yeah! Back and forth again, and I tense, and I shout, and I fist the sheets hard, and yes, that’s it. Draco makes all sorts of little noises that set me on fire as he comes in my hand, and then I come in his. God, I come all over his fingers, painting my chest with long, white, warm spurts until I finally regain my senses.

_La petite mort._

It really feels like a little death in the aftermath of a mind-blowing orgasm.

I manage to open my eyes and make out Draco’s face in the semi-darkness. He’s smiling. I reach for his face and bring him closer, the need to kiss him almost as strong as the need to come had been.

“Thank you,” I murmur against his lips, before kissing him again, my hand cupping the back of his head. And there is so much in those simple words. Thank you for being in my life, thank you for caring for me, thank you for loving me the way you do, in such an unconditional and sincere way.

He pulls back and slowly removes his hand from my softening cock, and I mourn the loss of his touch instantly.

I grab my wand and perform a cleansing spell on us.

I then take him in my arms, holding him tight, kissing him softly as we slowly drift back to sleep.

**\- VI -**

“I want to go downstairs,” Draco says out of the blue as we’re having breakfast in the bedroom as we do every morning.

I stop buttering my toast for a second and look up at him. “Really?”

“Yes.”

A thrill courses through my veins. “All right, then,” I say, a wide grin forming on my lips. “But I think maybe we should wait for Anna? She shouldn’t be long now.”

“Okay,” he says, taking a bite of his strawberry jam sandwich.

I tell Anna about Draco’s request as soon as she arrives.

“It doesn’t surprise me,” she says with a smile. “He’s talked about it a lot lately. I was waiting for him to articulate it.”

So here we are, the three of us, at the top of the steps. I’m leading the way as we start going down. Draco doesn’t hold out one second. He just follows me, his hand in mine, and we make it to the ground floor without any problem whatsoever.

I have a hard time believing that only a month ago, Draco wouldn't leave our bedroom.

“I want to go there,” Draco says, pointing at the living room door. Anna nods, and so we go.

We enter the room, and he lets go of my hand. There’s not an ounce of reluctance in him as he wanders around my living room and looks at absolutely every object, touching every single book, magazine, going as far as opening the drawers of my glass-fronted cabinet.

I chuckle and can’t help teasing him about it. “Hey, make yourself at home.”

He swiftly turns to me, frowning slightly, as if I’d said something weird.

“I am home,” he states with an odd look on his face.

“Of course, Draco, I was just joking. You’re right, this is your home.”

He raises an eyebrow. “ _Our_ home,” he says again, abandoning the drawers to cross the room and take a look at the pictures on the mantelpiece.

He grabs the first one, depicting Ron and Hermione in their new house, the day they had moved in. Ron is making a funny face and Hermione is scolding him, gesturing for him to be serious for the picture. I really like it, because it is so them.

“These are my friends Ron and Hermione,” I tell him.

“Ron and Hermione?”

“Yes.”

He mutters something I don’t catch before putting the photo back on the mantelpiece.

He then takes the second picture, the one that represents all of my friends posing in the garden after we had finished restoring the house. Everybody’s laughing and waving happily at the camera.

“Who are they?” Draco asks, pointing at the moving figures.

“They’re my other friends. Look. This is Seamus, Neville, Ginny, Dean and Luna.”

“Luna?”

“Yes, Luna. You used to call her-”

“Loony.”

I gape at him, unable to utter a word.

“Is this something you’ve told him?” Anna murmurs in my ear and I remember she’s right here with us.

“No,” I reply in the same tone before speaking up again. “We all used to call her that at first, as a matter of fact, not just you, Draco.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. But you liked giving people nicknames, especially people you didn’t like much.”

“What nicknames?”

“Well, you would call Ron, the Weasel, or Weaselbee. And Hermione, well, most of the time you called her Granger, that’s her surname.”

“And you?”

I smile at him. “Oh, yes, you definitely loved to give me nicknames. You liked calling me Potty or Scarhead.”

“Scarhead?”

“Yes, because of my scar, here,” I say, removing the strand of hair hiding my famous scar from view with my hand.

Draco comes closer and brushes his fingers delicately on it. “What happened?”

“Voldemort did that to me when I was a baby.”

“The bad guy you killed?” he says, still stroking my forehead, his fingers tracing the lines of my scar.

“Yes,” I say, feeling his breath prickling on my skin, repressing the urge to kiss him. “But you mostly called me Potter,” I say, willing to change the subject as Draco slowly lets his fingers drift down my face, cupping my cheek before kissing me softly. Oh, well.

“Potter,” he says against my lips and I shiver at the sound of my name in Draco’s mouth.

“Malfoy,” I whisper, kissing him too.

He pulls back, his gaze intent on me.

“Remember, I told you that’s what I used to call you. I never called you Draco back then.”

“Because we didn’t like each other.”

“We didn’t, no.” Understatement of the year.

Draco looks at me again, searching my face, before placing his hands on my cheeks and kissing me again, a long, slow kiss that makes my toes curl as I put my hands on his waist, bringing him closer.

Anna clears her throat, reminding us we are not alone and we pull back.

“Right, Draco, would you like to see the kitchen?”

We all move to the next room, and Draco really seems relaxed, as comfortable as he was in the living room and I’m grinning like a loon because here we are, finally! Draco is here, in my kitchen, and even if it looks a bit odd, things are changing, and for the better.

He stands next to me as I prepare tea for the three of us, obviously very interested in the kettle. I laugh when he jumps at the whistle the kettle makes when the water is ready and he scowls at me. He hates being laughed at.

We sit around the table with our tea and chat quietly. It’s brilliant. Just being here, together.

It’s nothing, and yet, it’s so much at the same time.

**\- VII -**

I’ve become completely addicted to Draco’s method of waking me up lately. He always starts by feeling me up, his hand wandering along my side.

“You’re here,” comes next, followed by a soft sigh. Draco then presses his body flush against mine and starts rubbing against me, his morning hardness poking at my lower back. That's when I usually turn over and smile at him.

“Morning.”

He smiles back. “You’re awake?” he asks innocently and I pin him to the bed, my hands in his as I get on top of him in one slow movement.

I thrust my hips against his, shoving my half-hard dick against his and say, “What do you think?”

He smiles smugly at me and wraps me in his arms before kissing me. We move slowly, taking our time, gradually losing ourselves in each other, our movements languid, growing more sure by the instant.

Once we’re finally sated, we head for the shower, and most of the time, round two happens in there. I get on my knees, or Draco does, and we revel in the other’s taste, water pouring down our backs.

After that, I grab the clothes I wore the day before from the floor and put them back on. Draco scolds me for it, and heads to my former bedroom to get clean clothes from my wardrobe, muttering under his breath all the way there. The word ‘slob’ is usually among the ones I catch and it never fails to bring a smile to my lips.

When Draco comes back in the bedroom, he spends a long time taking care of his hair, making sure it’s exactly the way he wants it to be. I’m not the one brushing it anymore, and I sort of miss the little ritual we had, but then, I’m happy Draco’s becoming more and more independent by the day.

We head downstairs and Draco makes tea - one of the first things I taught him in the kitchen - while I prepare breakfast. As usual, he’s very interested in what I’m doing - currently scrambling eggs while the bacon finishes cooking in the frying pan - and I can’t help smiling as he stands there, one hand on my hip, glancing over my shoulders and following each and every single one of my movements.

He moves to the window and gazes at the garden as I start setting the table for our breakfast. It’s a beautiful day outside, the sun is shining bright and it fills me with joy. It feels amazing to be here, just the two of us, so comfortable with each other. I’ve never felt anything like that with anybody. The proximity, it just feels right.

I wrap my arms around him as he pensively sips on his tea, still staring at the garden, my poor, wild garden that hasn’t been taken care of in months, hell, in years. I try to see it with his eyes, to see it for what it is, full of gigantic weeds hiding the beautiful design Neville and I had worked on so hard.

I rest my chin on his shoulder, one of my hands pressed over his heart, letting its soft beat comfort me.

“Want to go and take a closer look at the garden?” I ask without thinking.

He swiftly turns his head, pulling back a little to look at me. I hold my breath as I can see the cogs working in his head fast.

“Yes,” he finally says in a whisper, his warm breath making my skin prickle.

“Okay, but let’s have breakfast first.”

When we’re done, I ask him. “You still want to go explore the garden, then?”

“Yes.”

I smile as I take his hand and walk him to the hallway.

I open it, never letting go of his hand. He looks less nervous than I am, curiously.

The cold morning air hits us instantly - spring is around the corner, but it’s not there yet - and I wonder if we should have put an extra layer of clothing over our jumpers, but I suppose we won’t be outside for long and we can always go back inside to get something if it really is unbearable.

I step onto the stone terrace and Draco follows me. He doesn’t seem apprehensive, not one second. Now that he’s managed to actually get out of his room and discover the rest of the house, he seems more confident, less afraid of the unknown. Another change for the better, I guess.

I see his nostrils flare as he catches the smell from outside and realise that Draco hasn’t really been out for, what, three and a half years at the very least?

“You okay?”

He doesn’t answer me. He’s on alert, eyes squinting in the sunlight, going everywhere. I think there are too many things to look at, too many noises, birds chirping in the trees, a motorbike roaring in the distance, plus all the sensations, the sun on our faces, the smells, people talking in another garden… It’s a lot to take in at once. A whole new world is opening to him right now.

We move closer to the proper garden area, which is basically a small field of weeds mixed with knee-high grass. Draco runs his hand in the vegetation, letting it caress his skin gently.

“Let’s go back in,” he says after a while, turning around and heading back to the door.

**\- VIII -**

Draco being able to wander about the house changes everything in our daily life.

His world is no longer limited to the small bedroom, and he revels in the freedom it gives him. He now welcomes Anna in the living room with a cup of tea he’s prepared, comfortably installed in my armchair that he’s definitely adopted. We chat a little before they start their session. Anna and I teach him new spells and he spends most of his days practising them. He particularly likes the ones that help with the cleaning up.

He was very proud the first time he managed to wash his mug with the spell Anna had taught him. From then on, he declared that he was better than me at Cleaning Charms, and hence, he would be the one in charge of the washing up. I protested for the sake of it, but was rather happy to let him take care of something I really hate doing.

A lot has happened over the last few weeks and now is time for another important step: Draco is going to meet someone new for the first time since he met Anna.

I have trouble sleeping, imagining all kinds of different scenarios of what could possibly go wrong with Zabini and wake up early, but Draco’s somehow managed to help me relax with our little morning ritual.

Anna arrives at ten sharp and explains to Draco once again what is going to happen. She then goes back downstairs to wait for Zabini while Draco and I finish preparing.

Draco chooses to wear his - mine, really - favourite pair of jeans and a simple white shirt that I help him button at the collar.

He’s not afraid of his reflection anymore, so I have brought down an old standing mirror from upstairs and he admires himself in it, earlier inhibitions completely gone now.

I Summon the brush and stand by his side, as a smile curls on my lips. He notices it in the reflection and frowns at me.

“What?” he asks.

“Like what you’re seeing?”

“Yes,” he says, not a single doubt in his voice. “You?”

“Hmm, not bad.”

He narrows his eyes and then tilts his chin up a little, preening. “I look good.”

I slap him on his arse. “Of course, you do. You look gorgeous, you silly twat. Come here.”

I take care of his hair for once, and then he takes care of mine, his latest fad. The other day he decided that he had to do something about it, so he took my brush and tried to tame it. To no avail, of course. He says my hair is impossible, and yet, every morning he tries, taking his time to brush it, carding his fingers in it the way I do with his. Every morning he ends up being very frustrated and I like the look of annoyance on his face, so very close to the one the old Draco wore whenever I beat him to the Snitch all those years ago.

Anna finally calls us from downstairs. Zabini has arrived.

I take a deep breath. “Ready to meet Blaise, Draco?”

He grabs my hip and brings me closer, searching my face. “You’re coming with me.”

I kiss him slowly, savouring the taste of him. “Of course.”

When we arrive downstairs, Zabini and Anna are sitting at the kitchen table, drinking - coffee for Zabini, of course, tea for Anna - and chatting animatedly, as if they’ve known each other forever.

I stop at the entrance to the kitchen, Draco following closely, hiding partially behind me as his hand grips mine. I squeeze it.

Zabini stands up when he sees us.

“Draco,” he says as we all hold our breath.

“Blaise,” Draco says after what seems like hours.

“Would you like to sit, Draco?” Anna asks, patting the chair next to her.

Draco doesn’t take his eyes off Blaise. “No.”

“Okay,” I say, hiding the disappointment in my voice. Anna had warned me things like this were likely to happen and that Draco would probably need time.

“I made some tea for you, would you like some?” Anna tries again. Draco nods.

“Right, I’ll go and sit next to Blaise, then,” I say, taking a couple of steps towards the table.

“No.” Draco tightens his grip on my hand. “Stay.”

“Okay.”

“ _Accio_ _Draco’s mug and Harry’s mug_ ,” Anna says and sure enough, two steaming mugs of tea land on the kitchen table.

“That’s a nice mug,” Zabini says looking at Draco as I hand him his tea and take mine.

Draco frowns and takes a look at me and then at his mug and I can feel my cheeks heat a little.

Of course. Draco’s favourite mug.

Of all the mugs I have accumulated over the years, Draco had to choose the most ridiculous of all. I should have thrown it away ages ago, but somehow I didn’t, and now, well, Draco refuses to have his tea in any other mug I present him, even the blue one he’s used for months before unearthing this one from the depths of my kitchen cabinet.

It’s hideous, really. It has my face drawn on it in a very childish way, black hair by the rim, two black spots surrounded by round black glasses and a ridiculous smile, not forgetting the scar of course, very visible and _red_ , for some reason.

George Weasley’s perfect idea of a birthday present.

“So what were you talking about before we arrived?” I ask.

“Well, Blaise was telling me about his job,” Anna replies.

“Blaise makes potions,” I tell Draco. We are still standing by the table and the situation is a tiny bit awkward.

“That’s right,” Zabini says.

He tells us how he came to work in potions, explaining how after the war, he started his Potion lab, which was very small at first, and then how it grew as he started specialising in rare ingredients and focusing on research, working at first for individuals, and then as years went by for companies and bigger clients like St Mungo’s.

Draco relaxes a little as Zabini speaks, and releases his grip on me, his hand limp in mine now, even if he doesn’t completely let go of it. He doesn’t say a single word though, but I can tell he’s listening attentively. He’s probably storing information that will resurface at one point or another. Anna had warned me Draco would not speak much and that it was more likely that he’d just keep quiet and let his brain do the work.

The conversation moves to St Mungo’s and is not as sluggish as it was earlier on. Everybody seems more relaxed now, including Draco who is now completely absorbed in what Anna and Blaise are saying.

“Oh! I nearly forgot!” Zabini says, fumbling in the inside pocket of his robes as he takes out a black cardboard box with the word _Honeydukes Best Chocolate_ written in red on it.

Draco’s eyes widen at once and my heart beats faster as he points at the box and murmurs, “Chocolate,” with definite awe in his voice.

Anna and I exchange a glance. Blaise stands up slowly and hands the box to Draco from across the table.

I hold my breath as Draco looks at me and I nod my encouragement. He hesitates for a second but then the temptation is too strong and he takes the couple of steps separating him from the table and grabs the box.

He swiftly opens it and his eyes run over the colourful wrappings. His fingers tremble a little as he touches a red and golden rectangular chocolate before changing his mind and going for a sliver and blue one. But then a black and green one catches his attention and he finally takes it, discarding the box on the table and unwrapping the chocolate.

The paper falls on the floor as Draco throws the dark chocolate in his mouth and he closes his eyes, a look of pure bliss on his face as he savours it, moaning loudly.

“Those were always your favourite,” Zabini says. I had almost forgotten we were not alone. “I remember you saying once that you would ask your father to tell Honeydukes to make boxes with only the black and green ones. We were twelve or thirteen at the time.”

Draco’s munching slows down a little at the mention of his father but he remains silent.

“I don’t know these sweets, Draco, can I have one?” Anna asks.

“Yes.” He grabs a purple and black striped one and hands it to her.

“Thanks,” she says with a smile, as Draco opens another black and green one. “Mmm, delicious! Maybe Blaise would like to have one too?”

Draco hesitates and then fumbles into the box again. He takes out a silver and blue one and timidly hands it to Blaise.

“Thank you.”

Draco nods and then finally takes the seat next to Anna, bringing the box closer to him on the table.

I sit next to Blaise and the conversation starts again. Draco doesn’t speak much, but still answers questions, and eats lots of chocolate. I make a mental note to give him an anti-sickness potion afterwards.

We’ve been there for what, an hour maybe? When Draco starts rubbing his eyes and has a harder time focusing on the conversation. Anna decides to call it a day and she takes Draco upstairs to rest while Zabini and I stay in the kitchen.

“Potter, I had no idea…” Zabini says as soon as we hear the door closing upstairs. “I mean, what you’re doing, it’s… Not everybody would… you know.”

I look at him fixedly. “I’m doing it for Draco.”

“Yes, I know, but still. I- Maybe I should have been more present for him.”

I raise an eyebrow. A confession from an ex-Slytherin?

“Well, there’s still time for that.”

He nods. “I want to help. Could I- I mean, would it be all right if I came back again? To spend some time with him?”

Really?

“Well, I dunno, we should ask Anna but-”

“I’ll talk to her if that’s okay with you.”

“I- sure, no problem.”

“Thanks, Potter. For, you know.”

“Yeah.”

Well, that was unexpected. But then maybe Anna was right in the end. Maybe people do change. Or maybe they get a lot more interesting after a war. Or, maybe just when we get to know them.

It doesn’t matter. The only important thing is that it went well. And it makes me very hopeful for the future.

 

**\- IX -**

Over the next few days, Draco mentions Blaise a few times, and even asks after him a couple of times, although I don’t know if it’s because he really wants to see Blaise or if it’s because of the chocolates. Either way, it doesn’t matter. It’s good to see him open up to others like this, and the fact that he shows interest means a lot.

The sound of the gate makes me jump a little as Burbage enters the graveyard.

I don’t know what exactly pushed me to go back to Hogsmeade today. Seeing Burbage visit his late wife’s grave, following him home the other day should have been enough. Apparently, it wasn’t.

So here I am, sitting on my bench again, as I observe Burbage talking to his wife. He makes grand gestures as he talks to her and there’s something undeniably sad about the whole scene. It should make me happy; it doesn’t. I feel relieved when he’s finally done and I follow him home once again.

I lean against a tree on the other side of the street and wait. I don’t know what I’m waiting for exactly, but I do. After a while, I make out the dark silhouette of Burbage in his kitchen.

I decide to come closer and cross the street, still safely hidden beneath my Cloak.

Through the kitchen window, I see Burbage fumbling into his cooling cupboard and retrieving eggs. He breaks them in a pan and starts cooking.

When he’s all done, he sits at his table, smiling at something on the floor. He bends over to retrieve it and puts it on a chair.

I want to slap him. I want to slap this ridiculous smug look on his face so hard. How dare he smile after what he’s done? He unfolds the Daily Prophet that was lying on the table and starts eating his breakfast like he hasn't a single worry in the world.

I want to scream.

Terrence fucking Burbage is quietly at home eating scrambled eggs as though he never did anything bad in his life. As if he had not altered a single prisoner’s file, as if it was perfectly okay for someone to change someone’s sentence and condemn them for the rest of their lives, as if it was perfectly normal to screw someone’s life by taking their past away from them.

I feel anger creep inside me alarmingly fast, feel the blood boil in my veins as I walk away from the sight of this man, _this man,_ whom I hate more than anyone else right now.

I run from the place, run as fast as I can until I can’t see the house anymore.

I close my eyes and try to keep my temper in check, try to even my breathing because there is no way I can return to Draco looking like I’ve just seen Voldemort’s ghost laughing on my parents’ grave.

I walk along the path and realise my steps are taking me back to the graveyard. I pass Charity’s headstone without a look and sit on my bench.

I try to focus on the present, try to focus on what is going on around me, on the life that slowly awakens everywhere after the long winter. Even here in Hogsmeade, beautiful wild flowers grow among patches of snow and new leaves emerge on the trees, insects buzz and birds chirp, nestled in the branches.

This is life. And this is real.

When my heart stops racing like the Hogwarts Express on a rickety track, when my breathing’s back to normal again, I manage to focus on the three Ds and Apparate back home.

**\- X -**

“ _Accio_ _paper!_ ” Draco says but the paper on the bed - his paper - still doesn’t move an inch.

It’s late, and we’ve been doing this for over an hour already, and I really thought it would be easier. After all, it’s only a simple Summoning Charm. Although I remember when I was trying to master the spell back in fourth year, and it took me a long time to really get the hang of it. I remember Hermione’s advice back then.

“It’s okay. Just focus really hard on it, come on!”

 _“Accio_ _paper!”_ he says again, but the paper doesn’t move. Again.

Draco is getting less patient by the minute, and so am I, to be honest. His face is flushed. He’s getting tired and… angry, is the word, and I find nothing to say to help sooth him.

“That’s it,” he finally says, throwing his wand moodily on the bed and storming out of the room.

“Draco, wait!”

Oh no. I run after him and grab his arm, stopping him mid-stairs.

“Leave me alone,” he says pulling out of my grip and running down the rest of the steps, disappearing into the living room.

I don’t listen to him and follow him there.

He is leaning over the mantelpiece, his hands resting on either side of the pictures, inhaling and exhaling hard, trying to calm himself down.

“Draco-”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” He turns around, his eyes dark with anger. “YOU UNDERSTAND? LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!”

I’m rooted to the spot. It’s the first time Draco has shouted at me, and it’s as if he’d just slapped me. It hurts more than I had imagined. I open my mouth, trying to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.

“Fine,” I simply say through clenched teeth before leaving the room in a huff and going back up the stairs, trying to process what had just happened.

I freeze in the middle of the stairs as realisation hits me.

We’ve just had our first row.

**\- XI -**

I let a few minutes pass, pacing in my bedroom, trying to hear what is going on in the rest of the house. I know it’s safe and that nothing can really happen to him down there, but still. It’s his first time on his own in that part of the house, and I can’t help worrying.

We’ve had a fight. I knew that it was going to happen eventually. And in a way, it’s another proof of Draco’s progress. He’s asserting himself, and it’s a good thing.

But I don’t know how he will react to all that. He’s much more predictable these days than he was when he first arrived here, but still.

I stop pacing at once when I see the door slowly open and Draco sticks his head through the small opening, looking, well, sheepish.

I let out a breath of relief.

“Harry?” he asks tentatively.

“Come over here, Draco.”

He opens the door wider and steps into the room, an undecipherable expression on his face as he slowly comes to me.

I take him in a hug, encircling him in my arms as he slips his hands around my back.

“It’s okay, Draco. It’s normal to be upset. It just takes time, you know? It took me really long to succeed at this very spell, and I was using magic all the time back then. You just need practice, that’s all.”

“Yes,” he whispers against my chest as I stroke his hair, trying to soothe him the best I can.

“You need a clear head to do it, and if you’re upset, it won’t work. Just- just try to forget about whether or not you’ll be able to do it. Try to just focus on the words and the object instead.”

“Right.”

“You want to try it again?”

I can feel him hesitate. “Okay,” he says in a breath.

“Good.” I disentangle myself from him. “Let’s give it another try.”

And Draco tries again.

And again.

And again.

And again, and again, and again.

Until finally, after the umpteenth trial, the paper flies into his hand.

I can’t hide the thrill in my voice. “YOU DID IT!” I say, jumping in his arms. “DRACO, YOU DID IT!” And it feels like I’m almost more excited than he is.

But the big smile that slowly replaces the stunned look on his face tells me otherwise.

“I did it,” he mutters, staring at the piece of paper in his hand in disbelief. “I really did it.”

“Yes! Yes, you did!”

His eyes roam the room as he stops on a pair of trousers on the chair near the window. He points his wand at it.

“ _Accio_ _trousers_ ,” he says. The pair of jeans trembles a little, and Draco narrows his eyes, focusing on the intention and after a moment, it flies through the room and into his hand.

“You’ve got it, Draco! That’s it, you’ve really got it!”

“Yes! I- Yes!” He can’t stop staring at his wand. “ _Accio_ _comb_ ,” he says and the comb lands straight in his hand.

There’s no stopping him now. He Summons different things again and again, until we are surrounded by a multitude of objects flying all over the room from the bathroom and the bedroom itself.

When Draco finally stops, I laugh at the sight of him grinning like a loon, surrounded by an incredible amount of various objects gathered in a heap at his feet.

“ _Accio Harry’s glasses,_ ” he says mischievously, and my glasses fly to his hand. He puts them on his nose. He looks weird like that, although I must admit he’s a bit-

“Sexy,” I say huskily and he raises an eyebrow.

“Sexy, _Potter?_ ” he replies seductively before curling two fingers around the belt loop of my jeans, tugging me in. He leans in and kisses me slowly, and I flick my tongue over his bottom lip before tasting him further.

He breaks the kiss and discards my glasses on the nightstand before kissing me again.

“ _You’re_ sexy,” he says in between kisses.

I smile against his lips. “Not as sexy as you are.”

“Obviously,” and his face breaks into a huge, charming smile.

“Git.”

He narrows his eyes. “You like gits,” he answers very seriously, tilting his head a little.

I chuckle. “True. I love gits. Especially giant ones like you.”

He silences me with another kiss and soon I am moaning against his lips.

A few moments later, as our hands slowly run over our naked bodies and our lips can’t stay apart for more than a few seconds at a time. When we are both breathless from the urge to touch, feel, taste, savour the other, when I come in Draco’s hand and he comes in mine, I can’t help thinking that, really, nothing beats make-up sex.


	3. Chapter 3

  **PART III - SPRING**

_“I want to say something that I have no words for. Teach me how to say it.  
Teach me how to find sense in my own sentences, how to communicate without losing what I am.”_  
Mark Dimaisip

_**Six** _

_**** _

**\- HARRY -**

**\- I -**

_April 2003_  
Anna and I are not the only ones interacting with Draco anymore. Blaise has kept his promise of doing more and drops by the house several times a week, generally after work.

It wasn't simple in the beginning; I was still very reluctant around him. But then, seeing him more often, I realise he’s very different from the image I had of him. He really is an outgoing person, always in a good mood and fun to be around. He has something to say about absolutely everything and manages to make Draco, Anna, and me laugh hard. And that’s not all: he doesn’t treat Draco like a sick person. He talks to him like he talks to anyone, teases him, even pushes him sometimes. He brings him chocolate, mostly behind my back because he knows I don’t want Draco to eat too many sweets, but Draco looks so happy every time he visits, beaming like a child on Christmas morning, that I pretend I don’t see anything.

All of this helps Draco tremendously, and it’s a joy to see him open up more and more as each day passes.

Blaise is also very passionate about his work, and can talk Potions for hours. It fascinates Draco; Potions were his forte when we were at Hogwarts. Blaise explained to me once that at one point, Draco had contemplated building a Potions lab at Malfoy Manor. He probably would have done it if things had turned out differently.

Draco can spend hours in the armchair listening to Blaise converse about what kind of reaction he would get if he mixed some foreign plant to rotten eyes of whatever. To be honest, I hardly listen to what he says most of the time. Unlike Draco, Potions have never been my favourite subject and probably never will be, so I usually busy myself with a few chores while they talk.

Tonight, I join them after taking care of the laundry, but when I enter the living room, Draco is already standing, yawning in earnest.

“Tired?” I ask him.

“Yes.”

“You want to go to bed now?”

He nods.

“Okay, then.”

He says goodbye to Blaise and heads for the stairs. As he passes by me, he pauses, tossing a fleeting glance at Blaise, then at me. He searches my eyes, hesitant, and finally places a chaste kiss on my mouth, murmuring a soft, ‘good night’ against my lips, his hand lingering on my waist before he disappears upstairs.

My face flames.

Draco and I have never talked about it openly, but every time Blaise is around, we keep to ourselves. It’s like a tacit agreement between us. I don’t really know why, but I prefer it this way. I haven’t even told Ron and Hermione about my relationship with Draco yet, which is a bit weird, come to think of it, because we used to share absolutely everything for years and now… Now it’s different. It’s only when Anna’s around that we truly are ourselves, because Anna’s always known about us.

“So,” Blaise says.

I look straight in his eyes. “We’re together.”

“I can see that.” His expression is undecipherable.

“Do you have a problem with it?”

He laughs. “Me? Of course not. It’s just… I’m a bit surprised, that’s all. I mean, I won’t lie, the thought has crossed my mind from time to time, because honestly, why would you keep him around for so long?”

I frown. “You think I’m only keeping him around because I-”

“No,” he says, his hands held up in front of him in defence. “No, not at all. I don’t think that’s the reason you’re keeping him here. I just mean it could only help the, er, situation.”

“Draco’s living here with me because he needs someone to take care of him. Because right now, he’s not capable of living on his own.”

“Yes, I know that. But then.” He shuffles. “Does that mean that when he’s- I mean, when he’s fully independent again, he’ll move out?”

Something unpleasant runs up my spine at Blaise’s words. “Well, that’s the plan, yes.”

He considers me for a while. “All right.” He walks to the fireplace and stops when he’s reached it. He turns to face me again. “For what it's worth… I’m happy for Draco. And I think he’s very lucky to have you.”

“You’re a funny man,” I can’t help saying.

“Well, I’m doing my best,” he replies with a smile, charming, as always.

“I mean, I never… You’re not like I imagined.”

“Ah, well. I was a pretty prejudiced little shit when I was younger.”

“I never noticed,” I say, grinning.

“But then, with the war… I guess priorities change when things really get serious and you see people you care about…” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“Yeah…” I simply say, staring at my shoes.

He laughs and the suddenness of it makes me jump. “If someone had told me back then that you two would end up together, though!”

I look up and smile. “Trust me, I know all about that.”

“Although you always had an intense relationship so I guess it makes sense.”

“Well, yeah, but not like this.” I feel my cheeks heating again.

“True. It would have been quite the sensation at Hogwarts had it been the case.”

“Merlin, yes.”

I’ve often wondered about it. Did Draco and I ever have a chance when we were in school? What if I’d been sorted in Slytherin? Would it have made a difference? I’m really not sure about that. I wasn’t even aware I was attracted to blokes back then…

“Did you know about Draco?”

“What, that he’s gay?”

I nod.

“I did, yes. I caught him red-handed once when we were fifteen,” he says with a smile.

“Fifteen?”

Blaise chuckles. “Yes. He was snogging the daylights out of Theo Nott.”

“Nott?” I vaguely remember the tall, quiet Slytherin boy. I don’t recall he was particularly attractive though.

“Yep.”

“Were they… in a relationship then?” I wince at the word despite myself. Am I really jealous for something that happened so long ago?

“Oh no, they were just fooling around, mostly. Draco’s never really been serious about anybody. But then, he didn’t really have a chance to.”

“Right.”

“Oh, I nearly forgot!” Blaise says, reaching for the pot of Floo powder. His hand stops dead before he reaches it. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“I was having a drink with Greg Goyle the other day and-”

“I didn’t know you still saw Goyle!”

He frowns. “Well, yes, he does the odd job for me from time to time.”

“But that’s-” For some reason, I always believed Goyle was out of the picture, that he had fled England after the war just like Parkinson had done. “But then, don’t you think he could help? With Draco, I mean?”

“Well, that’s exactly what I was thinking all the time I was with him. I didn’t tell him anything about it, of course, because I imagined you didn’t necessarily want me to share Draco’s whereabouts with Goyle right now, but it did cross my mind, yes.”

“Do you think he’d be willing to come over and meet Draco then? Or at least give us a phial of his memories?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. He’s not-” He takes a breath. “It was hard after the war for him, and even though he never took the Mark, he was branded as a Death Eater by most people and had a hard time finding his place. Plus, he had to mourn the death of Crabbe, and with Draco in Azkaban…”

“Oh.” I don’t even try to hide the disappointment in my voice. Because that’d be great. Goyle definitely has things to share about his past with Draco.

“I can still ask him next time I see him if you want.”

“Right, let me talk to Anna about that first, and I’ll get back to you, okay?”

“Works for me,” he says with a smile.

“Good.”

He takes a handful of Floo powder and throws it into the fireplace.

“Oh, and Blaise?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For keeping your word and visiting Draco. I think it’s really been good for him.”

He gives me another of his warm smiles. “Well, it’s no hardship. I really enjoy his company. I’m happy to have a chance to rekindle with him, even if he’s somewhat different from what he used to be.”

“He is.”

“Right, I’ll see you later, Potter.”

“Bye.”

I walk up the stairs, still lost in thought as I cautiously push open the door to our room.

Draco’s quiet breathing guides me to the bed as I take my clothes off, keeping only my underpants. I slip under the covers and take Draco in my arms. He moans softly in his sleep, but leans into me as I wrap my arms around him, spooning him and placing soft kisses on the bare skin of his shoulders. I close my eyes, breathing him in as I fall asleep.

**\- II -**

I told Anna about Goyle the next morning, and, of course, she gave me the all clear. I owled Blaise immediately after, asking him if he could take care of it.

I received a packet full of Goyle’s memories in dozens of phials by owl a couple of days after, and gave them to Anna who added them to the ones Ron, Hermione and I had already sent her.

Although Goyle apparently didn’t hesitate to give his memories to Blaise, he seems more reluctant about visiting Draco. Blaise wrote that he wasn’t surprised, that it would probably take time, but that he was confident Goyle would come around at some point.

Hermione and Anna are in my kitchen on this late afternoon. They came over to discuss the practical points of the Pensieve sessions for Draco, and to go over things that still need work. They have both been working on the project for weeks. I know Hermione spends long hours after her job to elaborate the spell that would allow Draco to access his own memories.

“So, how is it going?” I ask.

“We’re close, I think,” Hermione replies, absentmindedly fumbling with the buttons of her cardigan. “The Pensieve is ready, and the spell… Well, I still have a few adjustments to make, but it shouldn’t be long now.”

“And I’ve worked on the memories you all gave me,” says Anna. “I’ve developed a plan to decide on what to show Draco and in which order.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, as you know, we have to be very careful with the memories we are going to show him. I want to take my time and see how he reacts to them. We don’t want to risk traumatising him with something he isn’t ready to see. So at first, we will only show him harmless, innocent memories from his childhood. I will work around them with him, and then, if things go well, we’ll gradually include darker moments, but that won’t anytime soon.”

“Right. Makes sense.”

“So, now we need a place to store all the memories,” Hermione says. “I was thinking that the best thing would be to keep them in your living room, so that they’re easily available whenever we need them. What do you think?”

“I- Yes, why not.”

“Great, that’s set-” Hermione stops abruptly as she fixes on something behind me and her face loses its colour.

I swiftly turn around and Draco is standing there, in the door jamb, his eyes fixated on Hermione. I can’t believe I didn't even hear him come down the stairs.

“Hi, Draco,” Anna says with a smile. “Did you need anything?”

Draco is still looking at Hermione intently. I get up and walk to him, placing a hand on the small of his back.

“Draco, this is Hermione, remember? I’ve told you about her, she’s my best friend.”

He finally breaks eye contact with her and turns to me. “Hermione?”

“Yes. You saw her in the pictures.”

“Hello, Draco,” Hermione says softly.

He turns his attention back to her and scrutinises her, his eyes moving from her face to her colourful cardigan, to the scarf she’s wearing and to her eyes again. He finally quits staring at her and looks at me again.

“I’m hungry,” he just says.

I smile at him. “You’re always hungry.”

He frowns. “Not always.”

“Well...” He sends me a dark look. I’ve discovered over the months that Draco can be very touchy when he’s not eaten in a while. “Right, we’ll have dinner in a moment. Can you wait until then?”

He looks at Hermione again, tilting his chin towards her. “Is she staying?”

Hermione is as surprised as I am by his question.

“You can stay,” he says, and just like that, he moves past Anna and Hermione and opens the pantry.

I feel like I’ve just been hit by a Bludger. Anna gives me a reassuring smile.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” I ask Hermione as Draco is fumbling in the pantry.

“I can’t,” she says. “Ron will be home shortly and I haven’t seen him for a while so… Another time, maybe?”

“Okay. I’ll see you to the Floo.”

We move to the door leading to the living room and Hermione turns to Draco who’s retrieved a plate full of Mrs Weasley’s biscuits from the cupboard and sets them on the table.

“Goodbye, Draco,” she says. “It was nice seeing you.”

Draco doesn’t answer, way too busy with his biscuits to acknowledge her, but it doesn’t matter. He’s met another person, and even if it wasn’t planned, he’s not spooked. Warmth courses through my veins as I hand Hermione the container for the Floo powder.

“Well,” she says. “That was unexpected.”

“Yeah,” I say, drawing an invisible pattern on the floor with the tip of my shoe.

“I’m happy to have finally seen him, though.”

“I know.” I look up at her. She’s smiling. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just- I think I’m proud of you.”

“Proud of- Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She throws her arms around me and hugs me tight.

She lets go of me and grabs a handful of Floo powder. “Take care, Harry.”

“You too.”

And off she goes.

When I come back to the kitchen, Draco and Anna are laughing about something. I lean on the door frame as I try to see Draco with Hermione’s eyes, as if I hadn’t seen him since the trials. He looks different, of course, but there’s something else, something that wasn’t there when I brought him home. His face looks more open and serene. He’s-

He looks happy.

And for the first time in months, I realise I might be happy too.

**\- III -**

“Knut for your thoughts,” I murmur in Draco’s ear, sliding my arms around his waist and securing them on his stomach as he sips his tea in the garden.

“That’s a lot of weeds.”

I chuckle. “I know.” I press a soft kiss to his neck. “They’re here. You ready?”

His eyes roam over the garden and he places a hand on mine.

“Yeah.”

We go back inside and he greets Anna and Hermione. After that first impromptu meeting the other day, she’s met him again a couple of times, and even if the contact had been tentative at first, Hermione looking intimidated by this different version of Draco, she’s now much more comfortable around him.

We settle around the kitchen table and Hermione takes out a small beaded handbag that I would recognise anywhere.

She smiles at me. “Ring a bell?”

“Quite.” I smile back.

She rummages in the bag for a few seconds before taking out a shallow stone basin, decorated with runes and other symbols. It looks very similar to the one I used in Dumbledore’s office all those years ago, although this one is much bigger.

She places the basin on the table, and Draco takes a long look at it, examining it, searching to see what’s underneath. I wonder if he’s ever seen a Pensieve before. After all, they’re pretty rare, and it is somehow a miracle Hermione was able to find one.

We all sit on the chairs displayed around the table, Hermione and Draco on either side of me.

“Right, Draco, you remember what we talked about? What will happen?” Anna asks, holding his other hand.

“Yes,” he says slowly. “I will see bits of my past.”

“That’s right,” says Hermione. “But first, I will cast a spell. Like Anna told you, it will allow your brain to use your friends’ memory to access your own, the ones that are buried somewhere inside your mind, okay?”

He nods.

“Good,” Hermione goes on. “Now, I’ve tweaked the spell a little, so if it happens, if we manage to access one of your own memories, then we will be able to know it. There will be a shift between the other person’s memory and the one that belongs to you.”

“Okay,” Draco says, shifting a little on his seat.

I grab his hand under the table and squeeze it. He gives me a shy smile.

“Right.” Hermione plunges her arm inside the beaded bag again and rummages until she finally finds what she was looking for. She retrieves what looks like a flat briefcase with a transparent lid displaying an impressive number of phials.

Draco’s memories.

It’s all there. Bits and pieces from Draco’s former life, collected from Zabini, Goyle, Hermione, Ron and me. The memories are numbered and colour-coded, and I smile just imagining Hermione organising, sorting, rearranging them until she was completely satisfied with her system. She’d spent days working on them with Anna, keeping the most relevant and discarding the others.

Draco’s fingers tighten around mine. I run my thumb over his knuckles in small circles.

Anna turns to Draco again. “Do you have any questions?”

“No.”

“All right. Now, no matter what, remember if you ever feel too upset by whatever you’re seeing, you can get out, okay?”

“Yes.” There’s a slight frown on his face and I can tell he’s nervous. I think we all are.

“Since it’s a collective Pensieve,” Hermione goes on, “We have to step out of the memory together at the same time, but we won’t be able to see each other in the memories, we won’t even be aware of each other. That’s why we will all be holding hands. It will also help us know if anything happens outside the Pensieve.”

“Okay, Draco?” I say.

“Yes.” He’s not in a talking mood today.

Hermione takes out the blue phial labelled ‘Number one’ from the suitcase. She then takes her wand and flicks it in complicated patterns and murmurs, “ _Excavere._ ” The silvery substance inside turns golden for a second before resuming its previous appearance.

“Everyone’s ready then?”

We all nod. The room is suddenly very quiet.

“Good. Let’s begin.”

She uncorks the phial and slowly pours its contents into the basin.

 

**\- IV -**

I see the memories swirl and I dive in without hesitation. I fall into the depths of the Pensieve and land on dark hardwood floors in what looks like an immense bedroom.

A large mahogany four poster bed stands against the wall, impeccably made with dark green sheets that look like satin or silk. On the right side of the bed is some sort of bow window that brings warm sunny light to the room. And on the floor by the window, two little boys are playing on a thick crème round carpet.

The one on the left has very recognisable white-blond hair, and I can’t repress a smile at this tiny version of Draco. He must not be more than six or seven in this memory. He’s wearing long black robes with white lace cuffs that he has to pull up over and over again and that fall down every time he makes a movement. He’s playing next to a much bulkier child, and it amazes me to realise that even back then, when he was so little, Goyle was already much bigger than Draco.

Both boys are holding what look like toy dragons. I recognise Draco’s instantly: it’s the small scale replica of the Hungarian Horntail I had to fight during the Triwizard tournament all those years ago. It looks really similar, with its bronze-coloured spikes protruding from its tail. Draco is squeezing it in his tiny hand and it looks surprisingly alive, even puffing smoke from time to time. Goyle’s dragon is a blue and grey Swedish Short-Snout.

“You’re not holding it the right way,” Draco says haughtily to Goyle. “Father says that if you cannot show respect to pricey toys, then I should not lend them to you.”

Goyle grunts something as Draco takes the Short-Snout from him and sets it back onto the carpet.

“I’ll play, and you’ll count the points, Goyle.”

“But I-”

Draco frowns and holds up a finger in the air. “Either you play by my rules, or you don’t play at all,” he says in his poshest drawl.

I almost feel sorry for young Goyle in this memory.

Goyle sits back on his haunches and watches avidly as Draco starts playing with the dragons.

He takes one in each hand and starts the fight. The Horntail in his right hand puffs and even breathes fire once or twice at the poor Short-Snout which, even without Draco’s determination to make him lose the game, would be in a dire situation against the Horntail.

Draco hits the grey and blue dragon with his own relentlessly, making noises, growling as he gets the Horntail to stamp on the Snort-Snout, which soon abandons the fight and lies defeated on the carpet.

Draco then holds both his arms in the air in victory, his right hand still clutching the Horntail’s neck.

Despite everything, Goyle looks happy for his friend and smiles broadly. A similar smile, showing gaps where teeth are missing appears on Draco’s face as it brightens with glee. Both boys start laughing together, reliving the best moves of the game with loud exclamations.

I feel Anna’s hand outside the Pensieve squeezing mine, and I know it’s time for us to get out.

**\- V -**

“That was me,” Draco says as soon as we all pull out from the Pensieve.

“It was,” I answer.

He looks surprised, but at the same time, there’s something in his eyes that shows he’s thinking really hard.

“And that was my room?” he says again, his eyes still staring at a point over Hermione’s shoulder.

“Yes.”

“It was-” He frowns. “It was huge.”

“Yes. You lived in a Manor house, remember?”

“Where is it?”

“What, your house?” I cast a fleeting glance at Anna who nods at me. “It’s in Wiltshire, in the countryside.”

“Does anyone- Is it empty?”

“It is. Nobody lives there at the moment.”

“Oh.” He seems to ponder that. “I’d like to go there.”

“Well,” I say, choosing my words carefully. Malfoy Manor is still in the possession of the Ministry, along with the Malfoys’ other assets. “It’s closed right now, and nobody can access it, but as soon as it’s possible…”

“Okay.” He leans back in his chair, lost in his thoughts. I cast a glance at Anna who nods at me with a little smile, our own silent code to let me know things have gone well. “I’m going to make tea.”

“Great.”

Draco gets up and fills the kettle before placing it on the stove and turning it on.

Hermione flicks her wand over the Pensieve, making its contents clear as water once again, while Anna takes care of the memories, putting the briefcase back into the beaded bag. Once the Pensieve is back inside it as well, she returns it to the living room.

I take out four mugs and levitate them to the table as Draco gets the milk from the cooling cupboard and some biscuits from the pantry.

“I was cute when I was a child,” Draco says out of the blue, once everybody’s finally settled.

“Indeed. You were a very cute little boy,” Anna says with a smile.

“Although a tiny bit bossy.” I chuckle, taking the little bag of tea out of the mug and discarding it on the small plate at the centre of the table.

“Me?” He raises his eyebrow in indignation. “I rather think I knew what I wanted.”

“That you did,” I say, smiling again. “You haven’t changed that much.”

Draco frowns at me before discarding his own bag of tea and adding some milk to it. He then pours some in my mug. I don’t miss Hermione’s slightly narrowed eyes at the whole exchange.

“Thanks,” I say. Hermione’s eyes are still on me as I drink.

We remain silent for a little while. This first session went much better than I anticipated. Draco got to see himself as a child, a rather harmless memory, and didn’t get hysterical. It was funny to see him so young, so different from the eleven year old version I met at Madam Malkin’s, already so full of himself, sharing the doubtful views on the world he had been force-fed with since he was young enough to listen.

“I didn’t access my own memories,” Draco says.

I turn to Hermione.

“No, not this time, but that’s normal. We didn’t really expect you to on the first go.”

He nods, taking another sip of his tea.

“But it doesn’t mean it won’t work any time soon.”

“Okay.”

“Right, I’ve got to go,” Anna says, standing up. “See you tomorrow, boys.”

“I’ll walk you to the living room,” I say.

“So, it went well?” I ask Anna as soon as we’re in the next room.

“Yes, I’m pretty happy with how the session went. Draco’s really getting better lately; he’s making tremendous progress. Have you noticed how much his speech has improved?”

“Yeah, it’s amazing. And he’s a lot more comfortable around everyone too.”

“He is.”

“Speaking of which,” I say, “I was wondering if you thought it would be okay for me to ask Ron to come over to meet Draco at some point? What do you think?”

“You mean tonight?”

I shrug. “I dunno? Would that be too soon?” I’ve thought about it a lot lately. Now that Draco wanders freely around the house, I haven’t been able to see him much and I miss him. I’m ready for them to meet again.

She seems to ponder that. “Well, I think you should be okay. I’ve worked a lot on that with Draco, and he’s already met Hermione and- and- Blaise, so, I think, yes.” She runs a hand in her hair. “Although I won’t be home tonight if you need to reach me so…”

“Oh, you have plans?” I ask her, a knowing smile on my lips.

She blushes. “Well, er, yes?”

“A date?”

“Yes.” Her cheeks are a nice shade of red now.

“That’s brilliant!” I can’t help smiling widely, because if someone deserves to be happy, it’s Anna.

“Well, it’s only a first date, so we’ll see how it goes. I want to take my time, but yes, it feels good to see someone,” she says with a hint of shyness in her voice.

“I’m happy for you.” I can hear Draco and Hermione lost in deep conversation in the kitchen as I wonder what kind of man Anna would be dating. Is he someone from her work?

“Well, thank you.” She smiles again and her eyes search my face. She hesitates. “What about you?”

This time it’s my turn to blush. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, Harry.”

“Fine. I guess it’s only fair.” I push my glasses up my nose. “It’s- We’re er, in some kind of a relationship? I guess?”

“How is it going?”

“It’s brilliant. Very much so. It’s- It feels… good to be close to someone like this, I’d forgotten.”

“I’m glad,” she says, placing her hand on my shoulder. “For the both of you. You deserve to be happy.”

A huge lump starts forming in my throat and I take Anna in my arms in a tight hug. “Thank you,” I say, even if a simple ‘thank you’ doesn’t even begin to cover how grateful I am for her. How dramatically she’s changed Draco’s life and mine, and how happy I am to have met her.

“You should go,” I say, breaking the embrace. “You wouldn’t want to be late for your first date.”

She smiles. “No, definitely not.” She grabs a handful of Floo powder and throws it into the fireplace.

“Have fun.”

“Will do. See you tomorrow, Harry.”

“See you tomorrow.”

And off she goes.

**\- VI -**

I go back into the kitchen to find Draco and Hermione deep in conversation about cleaning spells. I really have no idea where Draco’s fascination about them come from, but I won’t complain.

They are so lost in conversation that they don’t notice I’m here at first, and I take advantage of their unawareness to observe the two of them.

My best friend and my… well, _boyfriend_ , I guess, deep in conversation.

Boyfriend. It sounds a bit teenagy, but then, I don’t really have any other term for what Draco is to me. Partner? Lover? Nah, not really. Boyfriend has something, I don’t know. Boyfriend sounds good enough for now.

Draco Malfoy is my boyfriend. My cute, sweet, stubborn boyfriend, with his lean figure, his expressive face, so serious and attentive, listening intently to Hermione who speaks, making great gestures with her hands.

If ten years ago someone had told Draco he would end up being in a relationship with me and have deep conversations with Hermione, I think he would have jumped from the nearest tower.

I chuckle at the thought and realise the two have stopped talking and are staring at me, a similar expression of disbelief on their faces.

“Er, she’s gone,” I provide unhelpfully.

They both raise an eyebrow at the same time and I have to resist laughing out loud at the sight.

“I was thinking,” I tell Hermione, wishing to divert the attention from my awkward behaviour. “Would you- Would you like to stay for dinner tonight?”

Draco turns to look at her. “I would like that.”

“You could ask Ron to come over? I mean, if you-”

“You sure?” Her gaze on me is insistent.

“I want to meet the Weasel,” Draco says and I almost choke on my own tongue at the look of horror on Hermione’s face.

“Oh, er, you remember the nickname thing, brilliant!” I say a little bit too enthusiastically. “He remembers,” I say looking at her insistently.

She frowns. “Fine, I’ll Firecall him.” And off to our living room she goes.

As soon as she’s gone, I take the few steps between Draco and me and remove a strand of hair from his eyes, placing it behind his ear. “Er, I’m not sure you should call Ron that when you see him.”

“Why not?”

“Well, let’s just say you weren’t the best of friends when you called him that.”

“Oh, all right.” He shrugs.

“Thanks.” I place a quick kiss on his lips. “I’m glad that you’ll get to meet him, you know?”

“Why?”

“Because he’s my best friend, and it doesn’t feel right that he doesn’t get to know you like I do.”

I jerk away from him as soon as I hear Hermione’s steps back in the kitchen.

“He’s coming,” she says behind me. “Still has to finish his report, but he shouldn’t be long now. Anything I can do to help you with the food?”

We get to work and manage to find a bunch of leftovers in the cooling cupboard that we heat up on the stove.

I flick my wand to the cabinet above the counter and it opens, sending four plates flying to the table where they land in a neat stack, the cutlery following closely. Hermione starts setting the table as I send in the glasses before turning back to the stove and checking the pan again.

“Harry,” Hermione says in a low voice. “What is Draco…”

I swiftly turn around. Draco is moving around the cutlery Hermione has set just a moment before, placing the forks carefully on the left of the plates, the knives on the right of them and spoons above, in a very precise manner.

“You didn’t place them like he likes them to be,” I reply in a whisper. “So he places them back where they belong.”

“Oh.”

Once Draco is fully satisfied with the way he’s rearranged the cutlery, he checks them all once again.

“He needs this,” I explain, even if I’m so used to his little rituals that I don’t pay attention to them anymore. “It makes him feel better.”

“I-” Hermione starts just as the Floo roars in the living room. “I’ll get him,” she says, casting an odd look at Draco as she goes.

“Right.” I wipe my hands on the nearest tea towel and turn to Draco. “You ready?”

“Of course.” He shrugs. “He’s just your friend.”

I can’t help smiling at Draco’s casual words, because God, when I think back to the times when this man couldn’t even leave his room, I certainly measure the progress made.

Hermione steps into the kitchen, followed by Ron, who looks nervous as hell.

“Draco,” Hermione says. “This is Ron, my boyfriend.”

Ron looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than in my kitchen with our former nemesis right this instant. Honestly, I can’t blame him. I’m not sure I’d be much better in his place.

Draco nods at Ron who answers in the same way. Right.

“How was your day, mate?” I ask tentatively.

“Er, it was, well, same old same old, really,” Ron says, casting nervous glances to Draco who remains impassive, his hands resting on the back of his chair by the kitchen table.

“Ron is an Auror,” Hermione explains to Draco. “He…” she trails off.

“He investigates cases, looks for evidence, and solves mysteries,” I say.

“Er, yes, that’s right, that’s what I do.”

“Oh,” Draco simply says. “You go after bad guys?”

“Yes.”

“Like Harry did?”

“Er, yes.”

“Okay. I’ll go and get some bread.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Right, er, sit down, please?”

Once we all start eating, the conversation flows much more easily, and soon we’re back into a much more comfortable mood. We all chat happily, Draco and Hermione talking Potions and spells, as I discuss the newest inventions from George with Ron.

It’s just wonderful to be all together like this, two couples, relaxed and comfortable around each other, and I feel a warmth I haven’t felt in a long time. This is life; this is fun; this is what being alive means. Just having a nice dinner with friends seems very close to paradise right now.

It all goes swimmingly until Ron and Hermione suddenly fall silent. I frown and then I feel all the blood leaving my face at once as I follow their eyes on the table, on my hand holding Draco’s, our fingers entwined together.

I feel like I’ve just been trampled by an angry Hungarian Horntail.

Ron’s cheeks turn red and Hermione… Well, Hermione’s eyes go from Draco to me and back to Draco who frowns a little, and then turns to me, a puzzled look on his face.

I throw my head back and close my eyes for a moment, just the time for me to gather my thoughts, my hand still around Draco’s. _It’s okay,_ I tell myself. _I wanted to tell them anyway._

And it’s true. I’ve been meaning to tell them for a while now. But it never seemed like the right time. I couldn’t find the words. At least, that’s something I won’t have to worry about anymore. I take a deep breath, and open my eyes again, facing my friends.

“I love him,” I simply say because that’s the truth.

Draco flinches at my words, but says nothing. He runs his thumb on my knuckles on the table, looking straight at Ron and Hermione.

“We know,” Hermione says with a shy smile.

“Yeah, mate,” says Ron casually. “We’ve known for a while.”

“Really? But how come you didn’t say anything?”

“We wanted it to come from you,” Hermione says. “We wanted you to be ready to share it with us.”

“So you’re… I mean, you don’t…” I trail off, my eyes moving to our still entwined fingers as Draco keeps caressing me, the simple gesture grounding me.

“Harry,” Hermione says, leaning her elbows on the table. “We love you, unconditionally. No matter what you do, no matter what you say, no matter what, really.”

I let out a huge breath of relief as she elbows Ron not too discretely.

“Er, yes, what she says.” Ron’s eyes jump from Draco to me. “But really, did you have to- Ouch, that hurt!” he says, sending a dark look at Hermione.

“It’s just-” Hermione says. “Why didn’t you tell us before?”

“Because I-” I turn to Draco who looks very expectant. “I dunno, I- I was afraid you wouldn’t understand and that… Well.” I shrug.

“It doesn’t matter,” she cuts in, tossing Draco a fleeting glance before coming back to me. “If you’re happy, we’re happy.”

“He’s happy,” Draco says, not a single doubt in his voice. “And I’m happy.”

“Well, if everybody’s happy then,” Ron mutters. “I’ll take another piece of that chocolate cake.”

I can’t help laughing and the tension dissolves. When we’re done eating, we move to the living room and sit on the couch, Draco slumped in my arms, and we talk and we laugh and nothing has changed, really, except I feel lighter than I have for a long while.

**\- VII -**

A scream, followed by a loud noise, brutally brings me out of my slumber. I barely have time to realise Draco’s not in bed next to me before I grab my glasses and my wand and rush downstairs, almost tripping.

“Draco!” I yell, but there’s no answer as I enter the kitchen and an immense fire coming from the stove reaches the ceiling. I take out my wand and shout, _“Extincto!”_ on it and the fire diminishes, before disappearing completely.

I frantically look around before I notice Draco curled up in a corner of the room, his hands over his head in protection, counting frantically over and over again.

He’s rocking himself like crazy, and I let go of my wand and kneel next to him, wrapping him in my arms. He jerks away.

“GET OFF ME!” He shoves me away so hard that I fall back on my arse.

I move towards him again and this time, he doesn’t resist. I hug him in a fierce, desperate embrace. “Shh, Draco, it’s okay, you’re okay; it’s over, now.”

“No, it’s not!” he yells, tears streaming down his face. “It’s not! It’s not okay, I’m not okay, and I never will be!” he says again in between sobs that make his whole body shake hard. “I will never- I can’t even-”

“Shh,” I say again, helpless, my voice trembling. “You’re going to be fine, we’re going to be fine. Everything’s going to be all right.” And I don’t even know if I’m still talking to him or trying to convince myself at this point. I close my eyes.

“I won’t.” He sobs. “I’m- I’m useless. I can’t even- I can’t even cook breakfast.”

I tighten my embrace on him, unwilling to let him go, wanting to keep him as close to me as possible.

“Shh, it doesn’t matter, Draco.”

“What am I going to do?” he says again, and the desperate tone in his voice just breaks my heart.

I keep caressing him, trying to convey everything I feel for him through loving gestures as words get stuck in my throat and can’t seem to pass the barrier of my lips.

“What am I going to do?” he says again in a whisper, and I kiss the top of his head, trying to find answers I don’t really have.

We remain like this for a long time, holding on to one another, rocking gently on the cold floor of the half-burned kitchen.

**\- VIII -**

After what feels like hours, Draco finally stands up and goes upstairs without another word. I let him. I jump when I hear the bedroom door slam.

I sigh and get to work, flicking my wand over the kitchen to try and restore it to its former aspect. My heart clenches when I retrieve the remnants of burnt bacon in the pan.

When I’m done, I climb the stairs and open the bedroom door without a sound.

Draco is resting on his side, his hands pressed together under his cheeks, his eyes staring blankly forward. I lie down behind him, spooning him, resting my hand on his stomach.

“You okay?” I murmur in his ear.

“Yes,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

He rolls over on his back as I prop myself on my elbow. His eyes search my face and he holds out his hand, his fingers brushing my cheeks. I take them in my hand and place kisses on his fingertips.

“I wanted to cook breakfast for you,” he says, his voice breaking.

“I know.” I kiss him. “It was very sweet of you.”

“I’m useless. An invalid.”

“Draco, no,” I say, caressing his hair.

“I can’t even cook breakfast.” There’s no bitterness in his tone, just an immense sadness. “What am I going to do?”

“Oh, Draco. You might not be ready for this right now, but you will very soon.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, just look at how much you’ve accomplished over the last few months.”

He takes a long time to ponder that, playing with my hair, tucking loose strands behind my ear.

“Do you think one day I’ll be able to live on my own?” he says in a whisper, and I can’t help flinching at that.

“Yes. I don't have a single doubt about that. You will.”

His lips slowly curl up in a smile. “You always believe in me.”

“Well, yes, of course I do.”

He looks at me again, his gaze intent, his face still very serious. “You always believe in people, even when they don’t deserve it.”

I don’t know what to say to that so I keep quiet. I rest my hand on his stomach, observing the soft rise and fall of his chest, his quiet breathing, unlike earlier. I move my hand up his torso and place it over his heart, feeling its soft beating as I caress him gently through the fabric of his shirt, feeling his nipple grow hard under my ministrations.

“The night of the fire,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “When you came to rescue me.” He props himself up on his elbows. “I wasn’t alone.”

My hand freezes for a second on his chest before I start moving it again. “No. You weren’t.”

“You came back to get me. It wasn’t a dream,” he says mostly to himself. “It was real.”

 _What a terrible way to die._ I remember the thought, I remember the heat, I remember the smell, I remember the cries, I remember everything. And he does too.

“Of course I did.”

“You didn’t give up on me. It was dangerous, but you came, you came back for me.”

I rest my head on his chest and his hand caresses my ear, tracing soft patterns on my skull, soothing me.

“You saved someone too that night,” I say in a whisper.

“Goyle,” he says. “I saved Goyle.”

My heart hammers in my chest. “You did. He was unconscious, but you didn’t give up on him, you dragged him along with you, you saved his life.”

“I couldn’t save Crabbe, though.” His tone is serious, but he doesn’t seem to be on the brink of falling apart like the last time we talked about it.

“Well, no.”

“I tried, but I couldn’t.”

I lift my head from his chest and prop myself on my elbow again, looking down at him. “There are a lot of people I couldn’t save either, you know.”

He looks surprised. “Really?”

“Oh yes.” I sigh. “Many, many people.”

“Who?”

“Sirius.”

He frowns.

“He was my godfather. He’s the one who left me this house. It belonged to him.”

“How come?”

“He was a Black, just like your mother. Actually, he was your mum’s cousin.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Merlin, yes I do. Very much so.”

He stares at the ceiling and it’s almost as if I can see the cogs turning in his head. He’s so expressive, racking his brain, maybe searching for clues. I’m holding my breath, unwilling to interrupt whatever train of thought he’s trying to follow.

“Why did you stop?” he finally says.

“What?”

“Chasing the bad guys?” He turns to look at me. “That’s what you did before, right?”

“I- Yes. I was an Auror.”

“Like Ron?”

“Yes, like Ron.”

“But you’re not anymore.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“That’s a very good question.”

And funnily enough, it’s the first time anyone has asked it of me. When I quit, people tried to convince me it wasn’t a good idea, that I would regret it. All in all, very few people supported my decision. But nobody really asked why I wanted to quit.

“It didn’t- It wasn’t what I had expected. It just-” I shake my head, trying to find the right words. I’ve tried a thousand times to really figure out what was going on in my head, why this job, that I had dreamed about for so long, that I’d thought was the best for me, had turned out to be a major disappointment. “It wasn’t for me.”

“What did you like about it?”

“Saving people,” I blurt out without thinking.

He smiles. “You certainly have a thing for that.”

“I do,” I say, smiling back.

“Not complaining here.”

“Of course not.” I lean forward to press a soft kiss on his lips.

“What didn’t you like then?”

“Many things, I guess.”

“Like what?” He won’t give up easily.

“I dunno, I- The paperwork, for one thing. It was driving me crazy. You couldn’t do anything without having to report it, and write things down in great detail. You needed reports for absolutely everything. I liked the action; going out to look for the bad guys, the chase; that was exciting, thrilling, but the rest? Not so much. And I realised in the end, we were spending more time sitting at our desks than really helping people, you know?”

He nods.

“And then, there was the politics behind the whole thing. Like, we had to be careful with some people, and cater to them even though they were total bastards. I had to attend an inordinate amount of charity balls given in my name, and I was the poster child for these events, so I had to make speeches. I had to talk to people I couldn’t care less about… And it was really unfair, because I was always the one being praised about cases while the rest of the team- It was just as if they didn’t exist, you know? I mean, I was just one piece of the jigsaw, and yet, the only thing people wanted to talk about was me, and I’m not delusional enough to believe I’m that interesting you know. It was just- It was just all fake, all of it. I felt like a fraud most of the time, having to be someone that just wasn’t me. And, in the end, I just wanted to be me, to be Harry, not some fantasised-about puppet that would necessarily end up being a huge disappointment, you see?”

“You’re just Harry.”

I smile. “Yes, exactly. Just Harry.” I kiss him again, running my lips on his, then parting them slightly to taste him further. Merlin, I can never grow tired of his taste. I kiss him, caressing his cheek with my thumb, and he kisses me back, his hand in my hair. So good. So, so good.

After a while, Draco pulls back. “Do you miss saving people?”

“I-” Good question. “I don’t know. I mean, I want to be useful, you know? Really useful, to have a purpose.”

“Like Anna?” I think about it. Anna. Devoting your life to helping other people, listening to them, guiding them without judging them, or pressuring them.

“I dunno.” I shrug.

“You’d be good.”

“You think so?”

“Well, yes, look how good you are to me.”

“That’s different.”

“Of course it is. But you would be a great Healer if you wanted to.”

“Well, I’m not that sure about it, to be honest.”

He narrows his eyes. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I can’t deny I’ve thought about it a few times, but I don’t- I don’t really see myself taking care of people in this way.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. It’s not something that appeals to me much.”

“Okay.”

“There’s something else that appeals to me much more though,” I say, looking down at him, a soft smile on my lips.

The whole atmosphere changes in the room.

“Oh yeah?” he says seductively. “And may I ask what exactly?”

I take my glasses off and toss them on the table. “Let me show you,” I murmur in his ear and settle on top of him.

**\- IX -**

“How are you, mate?” Ron asks as he enters the kitchen for our usual Tuesday lunch meet-up.

“Great, you?”

“Good. No ferret around today?”

I narrow my eyes. “Ron,” I say in a tone of reproach.

“Hey, he calls me ‘Weasel’ all the time! It’s only fair!”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’ve never heard him call you anything but Ron.”

“That’s because he does it behind your back!”

I frown, trying not to laugh at the look of outrage on Ron’s face. I know Draco calls him Weasel when he thinks I’m not paying attention, especially since Draco’s started joining us for meals, but I won’t tell Ron that; I’m having too much fun riling him up.

“He wouldn’t,” I say, trying to muster as much indignation as I can. “Who do you take him for?”

“A fucking Slytherin?” This time, the look on his face does me in and I burst out laughing.

“Prat,” he mutters. “Anyway, where is he? There’s something I need to show you and it’s better if he’s not around.”

“Oh? Well, he’s in the bathroom, he’ll join us in a moment.” I flick my wand to set the table for the three of us.

“Right,” he says, reaching for the inside pocket of his robes.

The plates freeze in mid-air when Ron throws today’s Prophet on the table.

“Thought you might want to read it,” he says, sitting down.

I point my wand at the plates and they land on the table with a louder thud than I intended them to. I grab the newspaper. I can feel the blood leave my face when I see Terrence Burbage in his Unspeakable robes, a sly smile slowly curling up his face.

SCANDAL IN AZKABAN: AN UNSPEAKABLE AND FIVE AURORS UNDER HOUSE ARREST

I lower the _Prophet_ and frown at Ron.

“Read it,” he says, “I’ll finish setting the table.”

I sit and unfold the _Prophet._  
  
_Five Aurors and an Unspeakable in charge of the security of Azkaban have been placed under house arrest yesterday, for allegedly abusing inmates - all of them Death Eaters - and using forbidden spells._  
  
_Head Auror Robards said in a news release yesterday that these six wizards have been put on house arrest for an undetermined amount of time with restricted use of magic. Robards insisted yesterday’s decision shows his determination to punish guards who break the law and violate the Auror code._  
  
_The latest allegations involve the use of a variant of the Memory Charm used by Aurors on Muggles, aiming at erasing the inmates’ memory enough to render them unable to function normally, making them more ‘compliant’. If such a spell is innocuous when performed scarcely, it is highly damaging when used repeatedly, which seems to have been the case in Azkaban._  
_  
_ “Hermione was right,” I mutter.

“Isn’t she always?” Ron answers with a small smile.

“Sometimes I wish she wasn't,” I say, going back to my reading.

 _Both the Department of Mysteries and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement have been beset by allegations of damaging prisoners and are the subject of several ongoing investigations involving suspicious deaths._  
_There have been four unresolved deaths in the past five years in Azkaban, three of them under review by the Head Auror Office and a fourth under investigation by the Department of Mysteries. Although the DMLE has refused to release the names of the four prisoners, the_ Prophet _can reveal that Death Eater Lucius Malfoy is among the victims._  
  
“Merlin,” I can’t help saying between my teeth.

“Lucius Malfoy?”

I nod.

“Yeah. We’re not- I mean, these are only suspicions at the moment, but yeah, it looks pretty ugly.“

 _Minister for Magic and former Head Auror, Kingsley Shaklebolt, shared in another press release yesterday night his determination to learn the whole truth and assures the families of the victims that ‘everything will be done to shed light on the circumstances of the deaths and the conditions of living for every prisoner in Azkaban. The Ministry did a lot to reform the institutions of the wizarding world after the war, but this tragic affair shows that it was not enough. We have to work harder still to ensure every witch and wizard is treated fairly and without prejudice. That’s why, instead of appointing one Auror to lead the investigation, I’ve gathered a group of five Aurors who will be working exclusively on this investigation for the weeks leading to the upcoming trial.’_  
  
_The Minister also announces his wish for the trials to be held as soon as possible._

I fold the _Prophet_ and give it back to Ron who puts it away in his pocket.

“Well, at least things are finally moving.”

“Yeah.”

“Who’s in this group of Aurors then?”

“Williamson, Savage, Proudfoot, Olson and me.”

“You? But Ron, that’s brilliant! How long have you known?”

“It just came in yesterday, although I’d met Kingsley several times regarding the Malfoy and Burbage matters over the last few weeks, so I was kind of expecting it. I didn’t want to tell you before I knew for sure but-”

“Blimey, that’s great, mate. I’m so happy for you, congratulations!”

“Well,” Ron says, a faint blush creeping up his neck, making his freckles stand out. “Thanks. I hope we’ll be able to find out exactly what’s been happening, and that Burbage and the others will be punished accordingly.”

“God, me too.”

I hear Draco’s steps on the stairs. “Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

“Right.”

“Morning, Ron,” Draco says casually as he enters the room.

I turn to Ron, raising my eyebrow as if to say, ‘See?’ and he narrows his eyes.

Draco comes over to me and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into a much deeper kiss than he usually would.

Ron clears his throat loudly next to us and we part. There’s no mistaking the mischievous look on Draco’s face; he looks very proud of himself.

**\- X -**

Another week passes before we schedule the second Pensieve session. Anna thinks it’s best to let Draco digest the whole thing and take our time, rather than rush and risk sending Draco into a state of panic if he’s not prepared enough. She is taking her time, and I appreciate it.

Draco and I are snuggled up on the sofa, reading the _Daily Prophet_ when Anna and Hermione step in.

We quickly get to work. Since we’ve already been through this before, there is no need for long reminders. Hermione fetches her beaded bag containing the Pensieve and the briefcase with the memories from the cabinet, and we gather in the kitchen.

Once we’re all seated around the table, Anna picks the memory we’re going to visit, and Hermione casts the spell she developed.

The memory dilutes into the Pensieve and I grab Draco’s hand under the table before I dive in once again. As soon as my face touches the silvery-white substance, I fall headlong into sunlight and my feet find warm grass.

It’s a beautiful afternoon in what seems to be an immense garden. Three small boys are tottering happily on the vast expanse of grass, clapping their small hands and laughing heartily. The one leading the group has white-blond hair that shines bright in the summer sun. I can’t repress a smile at this vision of a tiny version of Draco with his not-yet-pointy baby face and pouty lips, and his equally recognisable friends. It amazes me to see that even back then, when they were barely two or three, Crabbe and Goyle were already taller and bigger than Draco, quite massive even so young.

I walk closer to them, past a clump of bushes. Behind them stands the impressive silhouette of Malfoy Manor. A few feet from the boys, three ladies are busy chatting around a wrought-iron table on which tea has been set. There again, it is easy to recognise the slender figure of Narcissa Malfoy, looking obviously much younger and thinner in her late-twenties than when I last saw her. The contrast is unsettling, but then, twenty years have passed.

My attention is brought back to the three toddlers as a cry escapes the tiny Draco from the memory, and he stops short, pointing at something behind a shrubbery with his chubby finger. Crabbe and Goyle, unable to stop themselves in time, can’t avoid him and push him onto the ground brutally. Draco topples over on his hands and knees. For a second, he hesitates and casts a quick glance in the direction of his mother who is still sipping her tea and doesn’t seem to have noticed him.

Tiny Draco narrows his eyes and slowly opens his mouth, bottom lip trembling. I know exactly what is about to happen. Sure enough, a piercing scream fills the air as Draco starts bawling his lungs out. The tiny Crabbe and Goyle look sheepish and dumb, even back then - I can’t help thinking - fumbling with their fingers and not knowing quite what to do with their very upset friend.

Narcissa is by Draco’s side in a flash, and starts giving orders, summoning a house-elf. My heart jumps in my chest when I recognise Dobby - although Dobby doesn’t quite look like the proud, free elf I got to know years later - no, he looks, well, he looks weary and scared.

Narcissa holds onto Draco, still yelling, his face red and covered in tears as she tries, unsuccessfully, to calm him down.

And then something happens. The world around me starts to shake like there is an earthquake, and the image turns silvery, almost blue along the edges. The people in the memory freeze at once, statue-like.

The spell.

It’s working.

It’s _working_.

And before I even realise what is going on, the trembling stops and the scene resumes.

“What in Salazar’s name is the matter here?”

Lucius’ voice behind me is barely more than a whisper, but devoid of any warmth, almost threatening, as everything falls silent around us. Even the birds have stopped their happy chirping in the nearby trees. I turn around and gasp at the sight of this younger version of Malfoy Senior, Crabbe and Goyle’s fathers on his heels. Malfoy’s features are hard as ever, and the look in his eyes, narrowed at the scene before him, sends shivers down my spine. He appears even more haughty and superior than I have ever seen him, standing stiffly with his walking stick in his right hand, and staring straight at Draco.

I feel Draco’s hand tense slightly in mine outside the Pensieve, and I run my thumb over it to remind him of my presence.

In the memory, tiny Draco’s eyes widen further, nearly bugging out of his head as he buckles in terror under his father's shadow. I am oddly reminded of the expression on a teenaged Draco’s face on the Astronomy Tower that fateful night when-

The sound of a cup of tea hitting the wrought-iron table allows the tension to drop a notch as Lucius seems to remember he has guests - witnesses - and forces a terribly fake smile. Tiny Draco’s expression is uncertain as he scrutinises his father while snuggling closer to his mother, not looking very sure of what to expect. He keeps casting worried glances at the adults present before he slowly relaxes.

“Well, Draco, you would be very well advised not to display your emotions so _noisily_ in public.”

Tiny Draco seems to have regained his composure. “Yes, Father.”

“Very good,” and Lucius turns around and leaves without another word, the two men following closely.

When I step out of the Pensieve this time, everyone around me is silent, but Hermione's wearing a small smile.

“So,” Anna says. “How are you feeling, Draco?”

“My parents,” he says simply, his eyes still fixed on the now translucent liquid in the Pensieve, as if trying to see the rest of the memory. “I saw my parents.”

“Yes.” I tighten my hold on him. “Yes, those were your parents.”

“My father was strict,” he says, and there’s no bitterness in his voice; it’s a simple statement.

“He was. But he also loved you very much, remember? He came looking for you during the war, and he was very worried for you. I guess he parented you as he had been taught.” It’s a bit hard to speak about Lucius Malfoy in a more positive light, especially in front of Hermione, but I know that right now, it's what Draco needs to hear.

“There’s more,” Hermione says, and Draco looks at her. “The spell worked.”

“It did?”

“Yes, remember the moment when the memory seemed to shake like an earthquake?”

He nods.

“Well, that’s the moment when Goyle’s memory ended and yours took over. The second part of the memory was all yours.”

Draco turns to me. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“That’s- That’s-” he stammers and Anna rushes on.

“That’s great news. That means that there are even more memories buried deep inside your brain, that they’re not lost. They’re here somewhere, and it’s complicated to get them, but it’s possible. It will take time, but you will get them in the end.”

Draco stands up at once, rounds the table, and flings his arms around Hermione and Anna, holding them tight in his embrace.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you.”

I swear Hermione’s eyes are brighter than they were a moment ago.

 

 

 

 

**\- DRACO -**

“Another bad dream?” Harry asks as I, once again, wake him up in the middle of the night. As always, it takes me a moment to remember where I am. Soft sheets, a warm body beside me, the small light coming from his wand. I sigh and let my head fall on the pillow, closing my eyes.

He shifts next to me, and then his lips are on mine. It soothes me, grounds me, reminds me of where I am now, who I am. I open my eyes and see him smile. How I got so lucky after all that has happened is still one of the greatest mysteries of the universe to me. I smile back at him.

“You want to talk about it?” he asks, and I grab his hand, the one that’s still caressing my cheek, and hold it tight against my chest.

I can tell he’s expectant. He always is. He probably thinks it’s a good thing for me to remember things from my past, even the nightmares. I don’t care much about the past, to be honest; it’s a just a huge mess to me. Like a jigsaw puzzle. And anyway, it’s gone for good, for better or worse. The present is what matters.

He kisses me again.

“Why did you save me?” I have to ask. I have to know.

There’s a slight frown on his face, but then, he brushes his lips against mine and murmurs. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

“You saved me again and again,” I insist.

“It was the right thing to do.” He kisses me again.

“You’re my saviour.” Harry winces at the words. I don’t regret them, though. I mean them. He _is_ my saviour. In many ways.

“I’m no saviour.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No,” he says, narrowing his eyes in defiance. “I’m not.”

I tilt my head and look straight at him. “You are.”

“Draco, no. God, not- not you.” He closes his eyes briefly. “I’m nobody’s saviour.”

I feel the need to push him. I don’t know why. I want to see him, I guess, really see him. “You are. _My_ saviour.”

It works.

“I’m not!” He gets up from the bed. “I’m no saviour, Draco, can’t you see it?”

I stare at him. I’m not scared. I’m curious. I see him. He doesn’t see me, though, as taken as he is by his sudden anger. He looks sheepish.

“I’m not as pure and innocent as everybody thinks. I did bad things too.”

“Hardly.” It’s back again. This need to push him. This need to see him.

He runs his hand through his hair and licks his lips. I want to lick his lips too. He comes closer. “People died because of me.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Yes, Draco.” He looks sorry now.

“You didn’t mean to.”

His hand is back in his hair. “I hurt people.”

“But you didn’t mean to.”

There’s an odd look on his face. One I haven’t seen before. “I hurt you.”

I chuckle. “Of course not.”

He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smile. Instead, he comes closer, his face unreadable. “I did.”

“You’re lying.” Because he is.

He sits on the bed and looks at me. He reaches for my cheek and caresses it with the back of his hand. He trails his fingers under my chin, down my neck, to my collarbone.

“This,” he says in a whisper, biting his bottom lip. I look down.

The scar.

I know this scar. I used to spend hours running the tip of my fingers over this scar back there, wondering how I had got it, trying to make sense of it, imagining all kinds of stories behind it. Back there, I would spend hours watching it go whiter still from the simple press of my fingertip. But since I’ve been here? I’d mostly forgotten about it. We’ve never talked about it, not once.

His fingers trail down on it. “I did this.”

“No.”

“I did, Draco. I did this to you.” I hate what I see in his eyes.

“No,” I say again. “No, you didn’t.” My throat is very dry; my stomach churns. “I got this when they put me in prison.” That’s my favourite theory. It made sense to me. “I was wild.” I have no memory of how I was whatsoever.

“We were sixteen,” he goes on.

“No.” I press my hand firmly over his mouth. “No, no, no.”

He gently removes my hand, and stands up, away from my reach. “We were sixteen and I was obsessed with you.”

I press my hands on my ears. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” I shake my head.

“Draco.” I jump when he grabs my wrists and push them away as he sits back on the bed. “Draco. I didn’t mean it. I- I didn’t know what the spell would do. I wouldn’t have used it if I had known.”

The knot in my stomach relaxes somewhat. “What-” His eyes widen. “Tell me what happened.” I want to know now.

“I’m not sure-”

“Tell me. Tell me what happened. Tell me. Harry, tell me what happened.” I preferred the story of me being wild and resisting when they put me in prison. “I am not weak.”

He cups my face in his hands. “Of course you’re not.” He looks like he wants to kiss me. I want him to kiss me. He doesn’t kiss me. “You’re not weak. You’re brave.”

“So tell me.”

Another hesitation. And then- “Fine.”

He tells me the story of our sixth year at school. He speaks slowly, perhaps afraid of my reactions. I don’t interrupt. I listen carefully, trying to reconcile the picture of my former self in my mind with what he says. I listen. I nod. I try to make the pieces of the puzzle fit. They don’t.

“That day, I came to find you. I wanted to know what you were up to.” He closes his eyes. “You were in a bathroom, talking to Moaning Myrtle.” He opens his eyes again. “She’s a ghost. The ghost of a girl that got-” He looks at me. “Never mind. You were in the bathroom and you were crying. You were scared. Merlin, I had never seen you like that before.” He kisses me. “I’ve often thought about that moment. Afterwards. If it could it have been different. If I could have helped you somehow. What if…” He shakes his head. “I didn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. I kiss him too. “You’re here now.”

“I am.” He kisses me again. And again.

“What happened?” I murmur against his lips. I’m not that easily distracted. I can focus around Harry sometimes. Sometimes.

He sighs. “You saw me. In the mirror. And you-” He entwines his fingers with mine. “You hexed me. And then it all went very fast. Jinxes turned to curses.” He squeezes my hand and closes his eyes again. “There was this curse I had read about in a book, and there was a scribbled note next to it, and it read-” He opens his eyes and takes a deep breath. “It read, _For enemies_.”

Enemies. We were enemies once; Harry told me about it several times.

He searches my face and removes a strand of hair from my eyes, tucking it behind my ear. I nod.

He goes on. “Anyway. I cast the curse. And it did this. It almost sliced you in two.”

“You didn’t know what it did,” I say. “You didn’t want to hurt me.”

He looks pained. “I don’t know.”

My heart sinks. “No, you didn’t. You didn’t mean to hurt me.” I squeeze his hand a little bit too tightly. “You didn’t mean it.”

He wraps me in his arms and holds me tight. “God, I am so, so sorry, Draco.”

“I know.”

“So, so, so sorry,” he whispers against my neck.

I pat his back. “I know.”

He kisses his way up to my face. “God, I want to make up for it; I want to make up for all of it.”

“Yes,” I say in a breath, closing my eyes, running my hands through his hair, and then he crushes his mouth on mine and my head spins.

We kiss, and it’s good, and it’s _us_ , and it’s all I need. Just this. Him and me. Me and him. I can’t help but kiss him too. I kiss him, kiss him, kiss him, and he kisses me back. I taste him, and I suck on his tongue, and I hold him tight.

“Yes,” I say as he pushes me down on my back, settling between my legs without breaking the kiss. “Yes,” I say again as he licks at my neck, running his tongue over my collarbone, and then… he glances up at me. “Don’t stop,” I plead.

He kisses the tip of my scar. It’s a ghost-kiss. It’s barely there. He kisses my scar again, right under the spot he kissed before. And he does it again. And again, and again, going all the way down my scar, placing soft kisses all along its length. My skin rises in goose pimples.

This is Harry. _My_ Harry.

“I love you,” I say.

His head snaps up. “You do.” He almost sounds surprised.

“Yes. I love you.” Because it’s true.

He smiles. He’s beautiful when he smiles. “God, I- Me too.” He kisses my stomach. “Draco,” he murmurs against my skin. “It’s always been you.” And it feels like he’s almost talking to himself. Maybe he is.

My cock rubs against his chest, and I moan.

“I want you,” I say, and I grab hold of his shoulders, bucking my hips, looking for more friction.

“Merlin, Draco,” he says, his hands on my hips as he kisses my stomach again, his words muffled. “I want you too.”

He runs his hands up and down my sides. I thrust up again, desire growing inside me as something new arises, a sensation, a _need_ I haven’t felt in- I can’t remember. Obviously.

“Take me.” My voice is hoarse.

He freezes and his eyes widen. “What?” he asks in a breath.

“Take me.”

“Draco, no-”

“You always say no.” I put my most efficient pout on my lips.

“I can’t-” The look in his eyes. “We can’t do this.”

“Yes we can.”

He shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be right, you understand?”

I push my hips up and rub my erection against him again. “It feels right.”

“Look.” He sighs. “We can’t- We can’t do this, not right now.”

I hate it when he does that. When he treats me as someone who’s not well enough to make his own decisions. I open my mouth to protest, but he places a hand on my chest.

“Listen, we can’t- do _that_ , but we… We can…” He takes a quick look at my boxer briefs, then back up to me. “We can do this.”

He pulls my underpants down. He’s aroused, his hands trembling. Soon there is the soft caress of his breath on my dick and I thrust up.

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, yes, yes.”

I push up again, eager to have him touch me like this.

And then he does.

He licks the head of my cock with the tip of his tongue achingly slowly, and I grab his hair. He twirls his tongue around the glans, and then, finally, finally takes me all the way in his mouth.

I arch my back and drown in sensation.

 

_**Seven** _

**\- HARRY -**

****

**\- I -**

_May 2003_  
Over the next weeks, we watch more scenes from Draco’s past in the Pensieve, and the spell created by Hermione helps Draco unearth more and more of his own memories from the depths of his brain. Sometimes they’re just a continuation of the other person’s memory, like the one in the gardens of Malfoy Manor, but other times, the scenes are different, triggered by a common point in them.

Anna works with Draco after each session, helping him gradually reconnect with the person he was before.

After a few weeks of watching innocent, happy memories, we are now watching less gentle ones, giving Draco a glimpse of how he behaved around us, in particular, and other people in general.

We talked a lot the day after Draco got to see our very first encounter at Madam Malkin’s. And after the memory of what we call the ‘Slug Incident’ - where Ron’s spell against Draco had backfired and had him throwing up slugs - we explained to Draco the whole philosophy - if anyone can call it that - behind the ‘Mudblood’ insult.

Of course, every single time, Anna guides us and helps put words to feelings and emotions that I would be incapable of dealing with on my own.

That's when I fully realise how important her work with Draco is.

I’m particularly excited about today’s memory, because when I dive in the Pensieve, I find myself on the Quidditch pitch again, although, this time, we’ve jumped to a few weeks after the ‘Slug Incident:’ it’s Draco’s first Quidditch match against me.

In a heartbeat, I am taken back to those incredibly intense moments, and my whole body is high on the cheering of the crowd and the pure adrenaline of flying. For a moment, I savour the feeling of being on a broom. I had forgotten. I had completely forgotten the sensations of being so high up in the air, feeling the wind in my hair like that, the excitement, the-

 _“Training for the ballet, Potter?”_ Draco yells after I’m forced to do a weird twirl in the air to avoid the tampered Bludger chasing me. This match had been crazy. It was my first match against Draco after his father had bought the Slytherin team a whole set of brand new broomsticks. The stakes were high that day: we had to beat them. It was a question of honour. Wood had put a lot of pressure on me in the changing-room right before the match.

But then, as usual, nothing happened like it should have, and my younger self tries his best to avoid the Bludger that is still following him, when he sees the Snitch right next to Draco’s ear while Draco laughs his arse off at me.

There is a second when younger me hangs in mid-air, and I brace myself, knowing what happens next.

The Bludger hits my younger self in the elbow, and I hear my arm break with a crushing sound. My younger self doesn’t seem to care though, too taken by the sight of the Snitch still hovering beside Draco, who makes an impossible face at the thought I am about to attack him. He moves at the last second, and I catch the Snitch.

As I am about to relive the whole moment when Lockhart tries to fix my injuries, and manages to remove all the bones in my arm, the scene shakes and turns silvery. The memory freezes, warning us that we’re about to gain access to one of Draco’s memories.

This time, it’s a scene I’ve never witnessed. I find myself in a dark, empty classroom, except for the four very recognisable students. There’s Draco, taller still than he was in the last memory, and his two sidekicks. The fourth student is Flint, Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team at the time.

Crabbe and Goyle stand dumbly by the door while Draco paces the space between the teacher’s desk and the first row of students desks. Flint is leans on one of them, apparently lost in his thoughts.

“Bloody Potter, I’ll make him pay for that, he won’t get off of it quite so easily,” Draco says, still pacing.

“I can’t wait to see how you’ll manage that,” Flint snaps, and Draco stops abruptly, his eyes shooting daggers at his Captain.

“Are you trying to s-”

“I’m just saying that if you would manage to catch the bloody Snitch before Potter, for once, then maybe we’d have a chance to win the Cup one year!”

Draco narrows his eyes dangerously, and sends a dismissing gesture at Crabbe and Goyle, who were starting to come closer. Draco takes a good look at Flint, from head to toe. “Oh yeah? Slytherin wouldn’t even have a chance at anything if my father had not-”

“Had not what, Malfoy? Do you really think all we need is brand-new brooms? Potter could fly a Cleansweep One with his eyes closed and still catch the Snitch before you do. You’re just-”

But I never get a chance to hear what he thinks of Draco is since the door opens swiftly and McGonagall appears. Draco jumps, and moves back at once.

“I am glad to see you all ready to serve your detention, gentlemen,” she says, stern as ever.

Now, I remember.

This is our third year, right after Draco and his friends disguised themselves to look like Dementors and I cast my very first Patronus.

I can’t help smiling at the recollection.

Draco’s face is mischievous when we all get out of the Pensieve. There’s something about his face in this moment that’s so familiar it makes my skin prickle.

I raise an eyebrow. “What?”

He slowly leans in, his trademark sneer on his face. “One day, Potter,” he says in a low voice, “I’ll beat you to the Snitch.”

I can’t help chortling. “You wish, Malfoy, you wish.”

**\- II -**

The Pensieve sessions are interspersed with various events, and our days become busier. Now that Draco is comfortable around Ron, Hermione, and Blaise, Anna has deemed him ready to meet other people.

A couple of weeks ago, Andromeda brought Teddy over, and it was amazing. I was happy Anna was with us because if meeting friends was an important step, meeting his family, his flesh and blood, was a totally different story. All of a sudden, it was as if he had the proof that he was not alone in the world, that he had roots, a family, and that he belonged somewhere.

Andromeda hugged him tight, and even shed a few tears at the beginning as he hugged her back without a word. Losing her family the way she had - her husband, her daughter, her sisters, even though they had not been close, to say the least - had taken its toll on her, and finally meeting this nephew she’d never known seemed to touch her more than I had anticipated. But, as always, Teddy and his joie de vivre quickly lifted our spirits, and we spent the afternoon eating cake and playing games in the living room, laughing hard.

Teddy was attracted to Draco like a magnet - and of course, his hair turned white-blond after only five minutes together. At first, Draco seemed a bit reluctant, and didn’t seem to know how to behave around the little tornado Teddy can be at times, but after a while, he relaxed, and the two of them were inseparable. Teddy followed Draco everywhere, sitting in his lap even as we played Exploding Snap. Draco pretended to be annoyed by it, but the look on his face when he thought nobody was looking told a different story. When it was time to say goodbye, Teddy threw a major tantrum, and only Draco’s promise of seeing him again very soon got him to leave.

All in all, it had been a wonderful afternoon.

Meeting Goyle last week was another story. For one thing, I was still very reluctant to see him. But then, I knew how important it was for Draco. I had no idea how Draco was going to react to him: they had been really close, and from a very early age, and also, well, Draco had saved his life. We knew Draco would probably be fine, though; he’d made a lot of progress over the last few weeks, so we were pretty confident it would go well.

When Blaise stepped into the room followed closely by Goyle, my heart raced. The stakes were really high. It was really weird for me to see him again after all these years, even if he had not changed much - physically at least. He was still as massive as he had been five years ago, and still had that thick look on his face.

What surprised me was the way he was dressed: a pair of jeans and a navy blue hoodie with a huge pocket at the front hiding his hands from view. Muggle clothes. He looked like a removal man.

While Blaise was saying hello to everyone, Goyle stood by the fireplace, staring at Draco, who stared back. They reminded me of cats dancing around each other. Goyle didn’t seem to know quite what to do with his massive body, and I could tell he was uncomfortable as he sat down stiffly next to Anna on the sofa, doing his best not to touch her, his hands still buried deep in the front pocket of his hoodie. Although I don’t know exactly what made him feel like that, if it was Draco living with me, or Draco being, well, nowadays Draco. Probably a bit of both.

As always, I was thankful for Anna’s presence, making things a little bit less awkward than they would have been otherwise. She was the one starting the conversations and making sure everybody was at ease. She got Goyle talking, although talking is maybe a little bit excessive a word in regards of Goyle’s mumbling.

Goyle had a hard time grunting more than a few words at a time, but still I learned a bit about his current whereabouts. He mostly does casual work for Blaise, delivering ingredients and potions to various clients. He’d never been very talkative and I guess that losing his two best friends, in two different ways, has probably taken its toll on him. His father was among the people who were judged and sent to Azkaban, so what Draco is going through probably strikes a sensitive chord.

That’s when I realised how hard it must have been for him after the war. He had always been a follower, of both Draco and Crabbe, not allowed to think for himself. He was a bully, and I won’t find excuses for his rotten behaviour back when we were in Hogwarts, especially not after Ginny and Neville told me what had happened with the Carrows, certainly not.

But I can’t help thinking he’s been through rough times too, like we all have. And, he too has lost many important people in his life. Crabbe died a horrible death right before his eyes, and Draco, the man he admired above all, well, Draco is not exactly the man he used to know. It must be rather unsettling.

Goyle left after an hour, and I couldn’t help releasing a breath of relief.

**\- III -**

Anna brought me the _Daily Prophet_ today, and even if I hate how distorted the information it contains can be, I must admit, it feels strangely good to read about the wizarding world again. I flick the pages of the newspaper, trying to find names of people I know, but there aren’t as many as I thought there would be. Time moves fast, I guess.

I’m reading the Quidditch section when a sharp noise at the window makes me lift my head. I would recognise the owl anywhere.

I sit back on the sofa and start reading.

 _Potter,_  
_My offer still stands. Would be happy to have you._  
_McGonagall._

I smile. McGonagall is nothing if not persistent.

I haven’t seen her in person since she first officially asked me last year. It was right after I’d handed in my resignation to Kingsley. Those were confusing times for me. I had been unhappy for a while in the Aurors, but quitting had still been difficult.

I close my eyes, and and I'm there again, passing the Gargoyle before the entrance to the Headmistress’s office, and then knocking on the door.

“Come in, Potter.”

I step inside. Even though McGonagall has been Headmistress for a few years, Dumbledore’s imprint is still visible all around the room.

The cabinet holding all of Dumbledore’s memories is no longer there - it was seized by the the Ministry at the end of the war - but, apart from that, nothing much has changed. A couple of frames here and there, a bunch of Quidditch trophies in a display case in a corner of the room, and a tea set that looks like it’s seen better days are the only elements that show the office now belongs to Minerva McGonagall.

Oh yes. And the couple of portraits hanging on the wall. I had to fight rather hard after the war to prove the world - and McGonagall - that Severus Snape had indeed been faithful to our cause. I was immensely proud when his portrait was finally installed next to Dumbledore’s. I nod to the two of them before focusing my attention back to McGonagall.

“Good afternoon, Potter. Please take a seat.”

I sit in one of the two ancient chairs facing the desk. McGonagall flicks her wand and an elegant tea set appears on a small round table next to her.

After a couple of niceties, and a cup of tea, she gets straight to the point.

“I have a proposition for you,” she says, her eyebrows drawn together, watching me above her spectacles.

I set the cup on the headmistress’s desk and lean back in my seat.

“What is it?”

“I want you to take over the Defence Against the Dark Arts position.”

“What?” I say, a tiny bit louder than I’d intended to. “Are you-” I stop dead in my tracks when I see the stern look on her face. McGonagall does have a sharp sense of humour, but she’s certainly not the kind of witch to make jokes. “Why?”

She leans back in her seat and removes her glasses. “We are not… satisfied with our current Professor.”

“Oh?”

I’ve vaguely heard about her at the Ministry. Rumour has it that McGonagall had had a hard time finding a replacement for Professor Flincher, who’d had to go back to Australia to take care of his sick mother the previous year. McGonagall had had to fill in for Flincher for the rest of the year, but it was always meant to be a temporary situation.

“What’s wrong with er-”

“Professor Humbert?”

I nod.

“Well, let’s say that Professor Humbert’s approach to the Dark Arts is not exactly one we value here at Hogwarts.”

Oh.

“Not to mention that his methods are a bit… dated, shall I say?” Her eyes dart to my right hand. It prickles under her gaze.

She looks up back at me. “I have looked everywhere, Potter, and no one is willing to take it. Those fools still believe the position is cursed.”

“But it’s not!” I can’t help saying. “Not since Voldemort’s-”

“I know,” she sighs. “But people are still afraid. Listen,” she adds, vanishing the tea set and clearing the table with a flick of her wand. “I do not only want you because I am desperate, Potter. I want you because you are good. I want you because I am sure you would be an excellent teacher.”

“But I didn’t even take my NEWTs!” It’s true; Ron, Neville, and I refused to go back to pass our NEWTs, unlike Hermione and Hannah. Kingsley had accepted us in the Auror programme, and I must admit, I was relieved not to have to go back to school at the time. School seemed like something from another life. Even back then, I needed to move on.

“Potter,” she says, shaking her head. “You have all the qualifications necessary. You went through the totality of the Auror training, and that alone dispenses you from taking your NEWTs. Not to mention you have more experience fighting the Dark Arts than most teachers anyway. So, what do you think?”

“I- I don’t know, I have to…”

“I am willing to help, of course. I could teach with you at first, if it sets your mind at rest.”

Teaching with McGonagall? That would probably be more intimidating than teaching on my own.

“Er…”

“Take your time.” She stands up, dismissing me, and I feel like a child again. “Think about it.”

“Right. I will.”

That was a year and a half ago. Since then, I regularly receive owls from her, reminding me that her offer still stands.

I haven’t accepted yet. I can’t. Not right now anyway. There’s no way I can leave Draco on his own.

Draco.

We’ve lived together for months, and yet, he’s still a mystery to me sometimes. There are still so many things I don’t know about him, about his past, about his family, about his history. Mostly the troubling parts of it.

Like when and how he got Marked.

I cast a fleeting glance at the cabinet facing my chair. It’s all in there. The answers. Many of Draco’s memories are comfortably stored there, waiting for us to uncork them and use them.

I try to bring my attention back to the news articles, but my eyes wander time and again to the cabinet. I look up at the ceiling. Draco’s upstairs with Anna, and they’ve only started the session a few minutes ago, so they won’t be around for a while.

It’s not the first time I’m tempted by it, but it’s the first time the temptation is this strong. I find myself getting up from my chair, and standing in front of the cabinet in no time. I open the door on the right side of it, and my eyes fall on Hermione's small beaded bag.

I take it out and carry it over to the kitchen table without a second thought. I plunge my hand in all the way to my armpit, and soon find what I’m looking for.

A flat briefcase with a transparent lid and a large stone basin.

I open the briefcase, and let my fingers roam over the numerous phials it contains.

I deliberately leave the blue ones - the happy and harmless memories - on the side: Draco’s eighth birthday party, Draco playing with the peacocks at the manor, and so on. We’ve already been through most of them with Draco. I also discard the green ones - the slightly more challenging ones, the ones we’ve been seeing lately - like Draco being told off by his father when he was little or Draco fighting with Blaise as teenagers.

No. What I’m really interested in are the orange ones, the most difficult ones.

These are the memories we won’t show Draco yet, not before he’s completely ready to see them anyway. If we ever get to show him, because these are really hard ones. I read the labels Hermione has put on each and every single one of them: the Forbidden Forest, the Astronomy Tower, Sectumsempra, the Room of Requirement… I don’t stop on any of these because I know them; I was there. No, what interests me are the memories of things I wasn’t around to see. My fingers stop on the one I was looking for.

I take it out of the suitcase and hold it up in the air with trembling fingers. The label reads ‘Dark Mark.’

I was never really sure, back at Hogwarts, that Draco had taken the Mark. I mean, I'd had my suspicions, and shared them with Ron and Hermione at the time, but I never got proof of it. Ron had been sceptical about the whole thing, thinking Draco had been way too young to become a Death Eater back in our sixth year. But the doubt had never left me.

It’s only when Draco arrived here, that I realised I’d been right all along. He had indeed taken the Mark. From then on, I’d always wondered how it had happened. I had my ideas about the motive, of course; Lucius was still in Azkaban back then, and Draco, well, he had to take over for his father at Voldemort’s side. But I had no proof. Seeing the ugly tattoo-like shape on his forearm the first time was a shock, no matter how much I’d expected it to be there.

What I still don’t know is how free Draco had been to make such a decision. Had he been coerced at all? Was he really happy, excited even, to finally be taken seriously? Had his mother tried to stop him? A shiver runs down my spine at the thought.

The silvery-white substance is swirling inside the small crystal bottle, luring me.

I take another look at the ceiling, pausing for a second to hear Draco and Anna talking upstairs, even though I can’t make out their words. I unstopper the phial and pour its contents into the Pensieve without another thought.

I take a deep breath and dive right in.

I land in a huge room with a very high ceiling. I’m standing right behind Crabbe and Goyle, surrounded by many people I can’t really make out because it’s very dark, almost as if we were in a dungeon. Only we’re definitely not. On my left, huge French doors are obstructed by impressive wooden shutters. The only illumination is a ray of sunlight coming from a slit at the very top of the French doors. It falls right in the centre of the room, onto a wooden armchair that resembles a throne.

As I look around, I notice shadowy figures retreating in every corner of the room, whispering frantically, and bringing a definite air of mourning to the ensemble. As my eyes become accustomed to the semi-darkness, I make out the outline of a grand ornate fireplace behind the armchair, surmounted by a gilded-framed portrait of a haughty white-blond wizard in a suit of armour.

The room falls silent as the massive double-doors on my right open at once, and Voldemort makes his entrance, wand in hand, Nagini at his heels. Following closely, are Narcissa and Draco, their heads bowed, clinging to each other. Closely behind them, is Bellatrix, jumping from one place to another, looking enthralled, completely overexcited, sporting the same crazy glint in her eyes I remember from our battle in the Department of Mysteries. Snape brings up the rear.

Voldemort stops beside the chair and narrows his eyes, taking in his environment, making out the faces of the people present, bending their heads as his dark scarlet eyes prey on each and every one of them. They’re mostly Death Eaters. Some, I recognise instantly, like Rowle, and others, I can’t place.

Voldemort’s voice, surprisingly soft, echoes in the now deadly silent room.

“Draco, take a seat.”

Draco shivers when he finally looks up at his mother and I catch a glimpse of his face. He's very pale, face paler than usual, contrasting with his long black robes. Even from a distance I can see him trembling from head to toe, even though he seems to be trying hard to hide it. Narcissa’s no better as she holds onto him even as he reluctantly tries to disentangle himself from her. Bellatrix appears to be losing her patience and it takes Snape’s gentle but firm touch on Narcissa’s arm to convince her to let go of Draco. Her whimper, as he walks away from her, echoes through the room as Bellatrix hastily leads her away to a corner of the room.

Draco walks wearily to the wooden chair and hesitates before slowly sitting down, resting his trembling hands on the armrests. He keeps casting worried glances at his mother, but focuses his attention on Voldemort when he speaks again.

“Very well, Draco.”

Voldemort turns around, his back to Draco, as he addresses the room.

“We are assembled to add Draco Malfoy to our ranks.” He roams the room, a small smile curling his thin lips. “Now, I must admit I have been very _disappointed_ by many of you after what can only be called a fiasco in the Department of Mysteries.”

A collective shiver seems to run through the assembled people, but no one speaks.

“Defeated, once again, by a bunch of children, blood traitors, _Mudbloods,_ and Harry Potter,” Voldemort spits my name as he drops his smile at once and hardens his gaze.

“It is very unfortunate that so many of you have been foolish enough to be captured and sent to Azkaban.”

Voldemort approaches the circle of Death Eaters and looks intently at each and every one of them as he walks past, Nagini on his shoulders. They keep their heads bent in submission. If looks could kill, they’d all be dead now.

Voldemort turns his attention back to Draco, who seems to shrink in his seat. “Our young friend is here to take his father’s place.” There is a soft murmur in the crowd as Voldemort stands in front of Draco and scrutinises him for a while, before speaking in a low voice. “Now, you will have to do better than his pathetic failures.” Draco casts another worried glance at his mother and nods hesitantly. “I will not tolerate any further mistakes from the Malfoy family. Should you fail, you will all have to face the power of my wrath. I will not be as merciful as I was before,” he adds, his voice a cold whisper.

Draco opens his mouth, but no sound comes out, and he closes it again.

“But enough with the formalities.” Voldemort’s thin lips curl up in a cruel smile, and he takes another look at Draco before muttering something. Immediately, leather straps bind Draco’s biceps and ankles, as a larger leather band circles his chest.

On my left, Goyle grunts softly, and I turn to look at him. He is livid.

I refocus my attention on Draco, who looks absolutely terrified, huge beads of sweat running over his almost translucent face.

“Very good. Let us begin.”

Voldemort raises his wand to the ceiling and closes his eyes.

He opens his mouth, and a deep, strangled hissing sound leaves his throat in a macabre litany of incoherent words as the Death Eaters in the room start chanting together something I have never heard before. At this moment, I’m very grateful my ability to understand Parseltongue disappeared along with the Horcrux inside of me.

Voldemort continues his horrible hissing as Nagini slithers down her master’s body and up Draco’s leg. Draco cannot move. He looks like he’s about to lose it as the huge snake curls up in his lap and lifts its enormous head, gazing fixedly into his eyes.

Voldemort lowers his wand, his eyes terribly empty, as if in a trance. The chanting grows louder. Voldemort hisses more incomprehensible incantations, and Draco’s sleeve rolls up his left forearm, revealing the pale skin underneath. My heart clenches as I force myself to watch.

Voldemort points his wand at Draco’s forearm, which lifts as if of its own accord, allowing Nagini to coil around it. The gigantic snake bares its fangs and pierces Draco’s soft flesh. A horrific scream fills the air. I can’t help but close my eyes briefly.

Voldemort’s evil smile is back on his face as he waves his wand over Draco’s forearm before pressing the tip of it on each bloody wound left from Nagini's bite. He seems completely possessed as he digs deep furrows into the soft flesh with his wand tip. Droplets of blood surge to the surface of Draco's skin, and the very recognisable Dark Mark slowly appears.

Draco screams his head off, calling helplessly for his mother, and writhing, trying to get free from his bonds - to no avail. I hear a loud thump to my left and realise Narcissa has passed out on the hardwood floor. Snape’s face is impassive, but his eyes - God, his eyes - show a terrible sadness.

I see the snake very clearly imprinted upon Draco’s forearm, but it’s not over yet. Voldemort lifts his wand again and starts a whole new line of incantations. The chanting coming from the Death Eaters is almost deafening as the tip of Voldemort’s wand catches fire. He blows on it, leaving it red and smoking.

I have a hard time breathing as Draco’s shrieks redouble and Voldemort touches Draco's forearm with the white-hot tip of his wand. The hiss of burning flesh precedes its foul smell, and I realise Draco has stopped screaming.

He, too, has passed out.

It’s almost a relief.

Voldemort takes his time, tracing the pattern of the skull with the tip of his wand, and then steps back when he’s done, a satisfied smirk on his face.

He twirls his wand one more time, murmuring words that resemble Latin. He brings his wand tip to his open mouth, and when he slowly draws it out again, a long black ribbon clings to it. The Dark Mark, now complete, shines bright in the dark room as Voldemort presses the tip of his wand against it again, and the connection to him is made as the ribbon gently encircles Draco’s forearm before dissolving completely into the Mark. The light progressively dims, leaving what now looks like a black, ugly tattoo on Draco’s pale skin, and it is finally over.

**\- IV -**

I rise up out of the Pensieve and a weird feeling immediately seizes me. Numbness. I stare blankly at the shallow basin, Goyle’s memory still swirling around in it as I grip the table edge, trying to settle back into the present. It’s more complicated than I thought it would be. What I saw in there was- well, I had not expected it. I mean, I’d thought about what the Marking would be like but I hadn’t foreseen the tension, the intensity of it all. And then, seeing Draco like that… It’s something I never want to experience again and I promise myself I won’t allow it to happen ever.

I hear footsteps above me and hastily put the phial back into the suitcase. I flick my wand over the Pensieve and Vanish its contents before stuffing it back into the beaded bag along with the memories. I’m just closing the cabinet door, when Draco and Anna step into the living room.

“How did it go?” I ask, trying to sound casual, but my voice trembles a little.

Something passes in Anna’s eyes as Draco scurries to me and places his hands on my waist, bringing me in for a soft kiss. “Good,” he says, and smiles at me. God, it’s the same face as in the memory, and yet… He looks so different from the terrified boy I saw a few minutes ago; it’s branded into my mind.

Anna clears her throat and I realise I’ve been staring at him longer than I probably should have.

“Great!” I say, and the enthusiasm sounds fake even to my ears. Anna’s gaze on me is intense. “Let’s go and prepare lunch, then,” I tell Draco, patting him on his bum.

“Yes.” I watch him as he walks to the kitchen.

“Is everything okay?” Anna asks me as soon as Draco’s gone.

“Sure,” I say, more out of habit than anything else. But then. “I- No, maybe not.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah, I think I-” I hear Draco fumbling into the pantry next door. I shake my head. “Maybe some other time.”

“Right. I can come back tonight, and we can talk about it if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be good. Thank you.”

**\- V -**

“I think there’s enough cheese in this, now,” I say later that night as Draco adds another enormous handful of grated parmesan to the pan. “It’s spaghetti Bolognese not macaroni and cheese, you know?”

“You don’t know what’s good,” he says, stubbornly adding yet another handful of cheese.

“Oh yeah?” I say, placing my hand on his waist and grabbing at the skin right above his hip. “Well, I can assure you I do know what’s good, and it has nothing to do with cheese.” I slide my arms around his waist and embrace him from behind, my chin resting on his shoulder. I place a kiss on his neck.

“You have a one-track mind,” he says, grinning as he flicks his wand over the pan in a circular motion to stir the pasta. Three times clockwise, three times anti-clockwise.

“Because you don’t?”

I let my hand wander south and press my palm against his groin, rubbing circles over it.

“You’re making me lose count,” he says as he starts stirring the sauce with his wand again.

“I know, I’m really bad,” I murmur in his ear as I keep stroking him. He hardens as I rub his cock through the coarse fabric of his jeans.

“Harry,” he says in a breath, his head falling back.

The Floo roars in the living room and I jerk back. Draco still looks flushed over the saucepan as Blaise enters the kitchen.

“Good evening, gentlemen, how are you on this beautiful day?”

I've got used to Blaise’s grandiloquent tone and I smile as he joins us. He's become a frequent dinner guest.

“What did you cook tonight, Draco?” Blaise says, tossing a glance at the saucepan.

“I’m trying to cook Spaghetti Bolognese,” Draco answers, glaring at me, flicking his wand over the pan for the third time.

“My favourite.”

“It’s more like cheese Bolognese, though,” I say, and Draco sends me a dark look.

Blaise clicks his tongue. “Now now, kids.”

The Floo roars again and Anna enters the kitchen. She seems surprised to see Blaise at first, but smiles widely at him nonetheless. He seems happy to see her, although there’s something in his behaviour that’s a bit off, almost shy, which is odd, because Blaise and shy don’t really go well together. It doesn’t last long though, and Blaise rapidly falls back to his usual easy-going self.

We have dinner in the kitchen, chatting about anything and everything.

When we’re done, Draco and Blaise remain in the kitchen so Draco can do the dishes, his favourite hobby at the moment. Anna and I surreptitiously move to the garden where I Summon a couple of camp chairs. I cast a quick Tergeo to get rid of the dust on them and we sit.

**\- VI -**

“It’s a beautiful evening,” Anna starts, gazing at the stars high up in the sky.

“It is.”

“So, do you want to talk about what’s troubling you, then, Harry?”

I take a deep breath. The pictures of Draco’s Marking haven’t left me all day. The look of pure terror on his face, his passing out, his mother’s cries… God, it was terrible.

I nod.

“Okay. I’m listening.”

“Right, this morning, while you were working with Draco, I took out the Pensieve and watched one of his memories.”

She cocks her head a little, but doesn’t say anything. “I’ve always- I’ve always wanted to know about Draco’s Dark Mark so I chose the memory of his Marking.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” I scratch at a small dry stain on my jeans, trying to take it off. “It was… frankly horrifying.”

“Yes, I can imagine.” Her voice is soft, her tone engaging.

“What I saw in there…” I trail off, shaking my head, looking at Draco’s concentrated face as he does the washing-up, Blaise leaning on the counter at his side. “I don’t want him to suffer like that ever again. Never ever.”

I look back at her and she holds my gaze, her eyes searching. “You want to protect him.”

“I- Yes, I do. Very much so.”

She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I understand.”

“And that’s why… I don’t want him to go through all the bad memories from his past. I’m not sure this is a good idea anymore.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about it a lot today, and I mean, what’s the point anyway?” I sigh. “Do we really have to put him through all these terrible times again? I mean, couldn’t we just show him the happy memories and be done with it? Wouldn’t it be better for him to just leave these things buried deep inside and let him live his life without this terrible weight? Are we even allowed to do that to him, to have him go through this intense suffering all over again?”

Anna’s voice is very gentle. “We’ve talked about that, Harry. You know what we want to achieve. You know that the point of everything we do is to help Draco reconnect with the person he was before-”

“Yeah, but what’s the ultimate goal? I mean, he’s happy now, right?” And right on cue, we hear Draco’s clear laughter echo from the kitchen at something Blaise has just told him. “Look at him! Isn’t it enough?”

Anna stares at me, long and hard, as if she’s seeing me for the first time.

“Harry, have you ever visited the Janus Thickey Ward at St Mungo’s?”

I frown, unsettled at the sudden change of subject. “What? Why?”

“Have you?”

“Yes, once.” I clear my throat as the soft breeze of this mild Spring night caresses my face. “When I was fifteen. We were visiting Ron’s father at St Mungo’s and somehow came across our former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve met him several times. Charming man. Permanent resident of the Janus Thickey Ward.”

“Yes, he-” I freeze as it dawns on me and I’m incapable of forming another single word.

“Harry.”

I swallow hard, but the lump stuck in my throat won’t go away. “You-” I exhale hard. “God, I-”

“Yes,” she simply says.

“But-” I’m feeling empty. Totally empty, as the sounds coming from the kitchen, the soft breeze, everything feels far, far away from me and I stare at the void, into the darkness of the garden, gaping as realisation slowly sinks in. I turn to look at Anna again. “He tried to Obliviate us. Lockhart. And Ron’s wand backfired on him.”

“I know.”

“And now he’s-” I close my eyes. Merlin, how on earth could I have forgotten about something like that? How come it never even crossed my mind? “God, he’s just- He’s just like Draco,” I say in a breath, my voice barely above a whisper as I lean back in my chair and rub my hands on my face. “Oh my God, Draco.”

My heart clenches painfully as I look at the kitchen again and see Draco in an animated conversation with Blaise. They bicker, and Blaise says something else, and they both laugh like teenagers.

“But he’s happy,” I say in a feeble tone.

“He is,” Anna says in a soft voice. “So is Professor Lockhart.”

Tears are prickling at the corner of my eyes as Draco pokes Blaise in the side. Blaise frowns at him, and Draco laughs again, throwing his head back.

Anna leans closer and takes my hand in hers. “Harry. What we do, everything we do, aims at making him an independent, strong, confident person again. He’s making incredible progress, just look at him! Remember when you first got him out of Azkaban?”

Oh fuck yes, I remember.

“I understand that you want to protect him. And believe me, I don’t want him to get hurt either. But these memories, they’re a part of his history, of who he is. And without our history, we wouldn’t know where to go, we would forever wander in between different worlds and have no anchor. We need our past to be comfortable in the present and build our future.”

She removes a strand of hair from her face. “And it’s not as if we were going to show him all these dark memories just like that. I’m working on it every day with him. I’m getting him ready for these hard moments, and I certainly won’t show him any of his dark memories if he’s not, or if I think they’ll do more harm than good.”

“Do you think he’ll be ready at one point?”

“Oh, yes, he will. But like the rest, it will take time, and there are a few steps to take before we can even go there.”

“Okay,” I say, pushing my glasses up my nose.

“Harry, life is not always simple and easy, as you very well know. But closing our eyes on our problems doesn’t help. You can ignore them for so long, but they always resurface at one point or another, Harry, always. That’s why we have to acknowledge them, accept them, and learn how to deal with them. It’s not always easy; it’s a painful process most of the time, but in the end, that’s what makes life rich and interesting, and that’s what allows us to move on.”

I watch as a tiny moth flutters around the weeds in the garden before disappearing into the darkness again.

“Draco has to take his destiny in his own hands. He has to make his own way, to experiment. He needs to try and he needs to fail. It doesn’t matter if whatever he does is not always successful. What matters is the process, far more than the achievement. It’s all part of the learning process. And right now, Draco needs to grow more confident, he needs to get stronger, all the while knowing he is loved. And above all, he needs to learn how to make choices.”

I sigh, looking through the window again. “Fine.”

“You okay?” she says.

“Yeah, I- I guess so.”

“Good.”

We both stand up.

“I don’t know what we’d do without you, you know?”

She laughs. “I’m sure you’d have found someone else to torment.”

I grin at her. “I doubt that. I’m very happy to have met you.”

“Aww, thank you, Harry.” And she takes me in a big hug, holding me tight. “I’m very happy to have met the two of you as well.”

**\- VII -**

Another day, another week, another Pensieve session. Anna, Draco and I are in the kitchen again. Hermione’s not with us, and hasn’t been for a while. She taught Anna the spell so that we wouldn’t need her presence every time.

Today, as I dive into the Pensieve, I find myself following Blaise up a narrow spiral staircase. I can’t really tell where we are exactly, although I’m positive it’s Hogwarts. As he reaches the top of the stairs and finds himself in front of a door, I get it.

We’re in the Slytherin Dungeons and this is most probably the door to Draco’s dorm.

My theory is confirmed when Blaise flings it open and storms inside. It looks a bit like the Gryffindor dorms, but obviously, the colour scheme is different. Everything here is Slytherin green, and each and every bed is adorned with a carved snake on the headboard.

I don’t really have time to take a good look at my surroundings, though. Draco’s voice rises from a dark corner of the room.

“Zabini, what the fuck?” he says, a mix of anger and indignation in his voice.

I come closer and realise what is happening at once.

Draco is flushed, his hair a mess as his hands are full of another Slytherin that I recognise: Theodore Nott. Nott swiftly removes his hand from Draco’s trousers, leaving them open as he sheepishly stares at a spot on the floor.

There’s no ambiguity as to what they’d been doing before Blaise interrupted them and I realise this is the scene Blaise told me about a few weeks ago when he learned about me and Draco. When we were at Hogwarts, I never knew Draco actively dated men - how would I have known anyway? - but seeing him like that, in what I suppose is our fifth year, is rather disconcerting for me.

Oh well, I’ve had other lovers after all, although not when I was that young.

“Draco, a word if you please?” Blaise says between clenched teeth.

“Go away. Can’t you see I’m busy?” Draco moodily retorts.

Blaise turns to Nott. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Nott hesitates, but Draco holds him back by the wrist. “Don’t.”

“Nott, if you don’t leave right this instant, I will go and owl both your fathers,” Blaise says. His tone is menacing.

I can now clearly see panic on Nott’s face as his eyes dart from Draco to Blaise, and back to Draco.

Draco narrows his eyes and shakes his head, with the same air of disgust I’ve seen directed at me so many times.

“You wouldn’t,” he seethes.

“I so would,” Blaise replies in the same tone.

They glare at each other for what seems like hours.

“Fine,” Draco finally says, jaw tight, never leaving Blaise’s eyes. “Just go. I’ll see you later.”

Nott hastily leaves the room without another word.

As soon as the door closes, Blaise is on Draco. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here, exactly?”

Draco shrugs. “Having fun.”

“Ha- Having fun? For fuck’s sake, Draco, do you really think this is the best of times for you to pursue this kind of activity? And with Nott, of all people?”

Blaise now looks at Draco with something akin to concern in his eyes. Draco remains silent.

“Look, I know you are under a lot of stress at the moment, what with everything that is going on.”

“No shit,” Draco murmurs, but Blaise ignores him.

“But you can’t do this with Nott. Do I have to remind you what is going on between your fathers? Have you already forgotten what happened at Christmas?”

“It’s not- It doesn’t-”

“Oh yeah? Nott’s father supported the Dark Lord when your father was still in the cradle. He’s waited that long for him to return, and when he finally does, the Dark Lord chooses your father over him to be the leader! Listen,” Blaise pauses and comes closer to Draco. “You know something big is coming. This is no time for you to fool around like this. You have to be more careful. Potter is watching you.”

“Fuck Potter.”

“Yeah, you’d like that,” Blaise mutters.

Draco glares at him.

“Look, I don’t care where you put your dick, I really don’t. But I care about you, and I don’t want you to get hurt. A war is coming, and it’s absolutely not the time to fool around.”

“Oh yeah? And when is it going to be the time to it, Blaise?” Draco says. “Everything’s about to fall apart! I just- I just want to be able to have a little bit of fun before it’s too late, that’s all!”

“Well, that's fine by me, have fun! Just, not with Theo.”

Draco looks like he’s about to snap back, but seems to think better of it.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” he just says, and then storms out of the room.

The memory shakes and freezes, shifting to Draco’s own memory. I recognise it at once; I was there.

We’re now in a corridor near the Slytherin common room entrance, and Draco’s just appeared, Crabbe and Goyle by his side as always. It’s a few weeks after the previous scene, right after Sirius got killed in the Department of Mysteries, and right after I sent Lucius and his little friends to Azkaban.

“You’re dead, Potter,” Draco says.

“Funny, you’d think I’d have stopped walking around…”

Draco’s face is full of anger. “You’re going to pay. I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done to my father…”

“Well, I’m terrified now. I s’pose Lord Voldemort’s just a warm-up act compared to you three - what’s the matter? He’s a mate of your dad, isn’t he? Not scared of him, are you?”

“You think you’re such a big man, Potter.” Draco comes closer to me, Crabbe and Goyle by his side, threatening. “You wait. I’ll have you. You can’t land my father in prison-”

“I thought I just had.”

“The Dementors have left Azkaban. Dad and the others will be out in no time.”

“Yeah, I expect they will. Still at least everyone knows what scumbags they are now.”

We pull out from the Pensieve as Draco and I are about to draw our wands in the memory.

“Well, that was… interesting,” I say.

“It was…” Draco says. “Merlin, I was-” He turns to look at me. “We were-”

“Yes.”

He turns to look at me. “It feels so odd to think we were enemies, so…”

“I know.”

“We really didn’t like each other.” I’ve told him many times, but he only seems to realise it now.

“Hell no. Really not.”

“It’s…” He looks really unsettled by what we just saw. He knows all about it, has for a long time. I mean, I’ve never hidden anything from him. He knows we didn’t like each other, he knows we were on different sides of the war, but seeing our mutual… dislike openly like that… Even I had forgotten how intense our relationship was back then. No other feelings than pure loathing, disdain and contempt.

“This is your past Draco, and you were all very young,” Anna says. “They were dark times, very dark times, and the stakes were very high, there was so much tension. Harry and you, well, yes, you were different. But as you know, people change, everybody changes and it’s our choices that make the difference in the end, what we decide to make of everything we are.”

_It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities._

“And many things happened after that, you need to remember that too,” I say, because that’s the simple truth. “Like Anna said, many, many things have changed us all. We lost people in the war, we saw things children are not supposed to witness, ever. After the war, we were different people.”

“Do you think you-” His face is so serious right now. “I mean, do you think we would have been friends after the war? Had I not been…”

“I dunno, honestly. I mean, probably not friends, no, but I think we would’ve been at least civil to one another. Much more so than we were at fifteen, that’s for sure.” I smile at him. “But then, it’s much easier to like someone when you get to know them. We never knew much about each other, and we didn’t care about not knowing any more, really.”

“Okay.”

“Right. Are you going to be all right then?” I ask Draco.

“Yes.”

“I’ll let you two debrief the session, then.”

**\- VIII -**

“You know you could at least remove your shoes before sprawling on the bed I’ve just spent hours making,” Draco says the next day, scowling at me, his arms folded across his chest, his foot tapping on the floor.

“Mm,” I say, lazily turning the pages from the latest issue of _Quidditch Weekly_. I decided to subscribe to it again a few weeks ago, once Draco had gone through the stack of my old issues. An owl delivers it every Tuesday, and Draco and I fight over who gets to read it first. He usually wins (or rather, I let him), but this morning, Draco was in the shower when it arrived so I was lucky.

And now, not only is he pissed off because I got to read it before him, but I’m also ruining the very carefully arranged bed sheets that he spent an hour making - as he does every morning. His OCD has dramatically reduced since he’s been here; I remember a time when it took him an eternity to wash himself - he told me once that he had to count and be careful to get it right, otherwise he’d have to start all over again - before he could even touch the water.

All of that is gone now, thankfully, but there are still a few things that manage to get to him. Like spoiling the sheets with shoes. As if we didn’t have access to magic at all.

Right on cue, he huffs in annoyance and grabs his wand in an overly dramatic gesture while my feet still dangle over the bedspread.

“Hey!” I say when a sudden cold gust of air hovers my now shoeless feet, and I glare at him. “I liked those shoes!”

“Why, you’re not even congratulating me on successfully performing a Vanishing Charm?” he says in his poshest drawl, smirk firmly in place on his face. “How disappointing.”

I narrow my eyes, a soft growl at the back of my throat.

He looks way too happy with himself for his own good. Way too good as well. Right now, I don’t know what I want more: to fight him or to fuck him. Story of my life, really.

I stare at him fixedly and then sit on the bed, my lips barely moving as I murmur the spell.

His eyes and mouth open wide as all his clothes vanish at once and he stands there, in all his perfect naked glory.

I run my tongue on my lips as my gaze slowly slides down the length of his body. I’ve made up my mind.

He lunges at me, abruptly shoving me on my back, looking furious as he pins me onto the bed.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” he growls, and it goes straight to my groin. He straddles me, still holding me down hard, my wrists painful from where his fingers keep me from moving.

I smile at him, raising an eyebrow in defiance, knowing it will irritate him further. God, he looks so fucking gorgeous like that. I cant my hips up just a little, pretending to try and escape his grip. I know I've won when he throws his head back as my fully hard cock touches his naked skin.

“Don’t try to distract me,” he says, narrowing his eyes above me. “You’re a major slob, you know that?”

“Well, since you tell me at least fifty times a day…”

“Apparently, it’s still not enough.”

I look up at him, falsely sheepish. “I know, I’m bad.” I put all the huskiness I can muster into my voice. I know he won’t be hard to convince.

He shifts his hips above me, rubbing against my jeans. “Very bad.”

I cast a glance between his legs; he’s as hard as I am. I mutter the spell again and I’m as naked as he is in a flash.

“Oops.”

“You’re just-”

I extricate myself from his grip in an instant and take his head in my hands before crushing my mouth to his. He whimpers and kisses me back in earnest.

“God, you’re infuriating,” he says against my mouth as his hands roam over my body and cup my arse. “So fucking annoying.”

“Yeah,” I simply say, because I just don’t care what he says right now as he kneads his fingers in the flesh of my arse cheeks, spreading them, and I tilt my hips to allow him easier access, all the while rubbing my hard dick on his.

He kisses his way down my chest and I grab his shoulders, pushing him further down as I spread my legs and he settles between them. He licks the soft skin around my navel before following the trail of hair leading to my hard, leaking cock.

I wrap my legs around him as he finally nudges at my cock, before licking the shaft with the tip of his tongue, all the way up to the head, and then pressing his lips on it and licking the slit.

My back arches in pleasure as I moan and whimper, writhing on the bed, fisting the sheets, my hips thrusting on their own accord to get more of his mouth, more of him, just more. He takes me fully in his mouth, his so-very-skilled mouth, and the sight of his lips stretched around me is almost too much to bear. He bobs his head up and down, my dick touching the back of his throat, and I reach another high when he presses his palm against my balls and starts fondling them.

“Oh, fuck, yeah!” I cry out.

His hands, his lips, his tongue, he’s turning me into a puddle of goo. I gasp as his fingers go lower, teasing the soft skin right under my balls, heading further back. I spread my legs..

“Fuck, Draco!” I say as he tentatively presses his fingertip to my entrance. I grab his hair and pull him away from my now overly-sensitised cock.

He looks up at me, the picture of debauchery, parted lips slicked with saliva, so fucking beautiful my heart races.

He moves all the way up my body and presses his lips on mine. I taste myself on him, running my tongue hungrily over his lips before plunging deep inside his mouth. He rubs furiously against me and somehow I spread my legs wider.

“Fuck- Want- Fuck,” he says as his dick slides along my cleft, poking at my entrance, and I clamp my legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts in earnest.

He buries his face in my neck, panting hard as his cock prods harder. We won’t last.

I disentangle myself from him and prop up on my elbows.

He frowns. “What’s wrong?” His whole body is trembling.

I simply smile at him. _“Accio Protective Potion.”_ He gasps when the drawer of the nightstand opens and the small bottle flies to my hand.

He gapes at me, gaze flicking from the bottle to my eyes and back to the bottle again. I catch his open mouth in a kiss, and for a couple of seconds he doesn’t react. But then he crushes his mouth against mine forcefully, and starts devouring it. It’s messy and wet and desperate. It’s fucking brilliant.

I manage to pull off long enough to open the bottle of protective lubricant and pour some on my fingers and Draco doesn’t even scold me for dripping some on the sheets. He’s way too focused on my fingers finding their way between my legs as I swiftly spread the potion, rubbing my fingers on my entrance. I briskly push one, and then two fingers inside, not wanting to spend hours on something that’s barely necessary. Draco is fascinated by the whole process as he stares, entranced, at my fingers going in and out of me before I take them out and add more potion to them.

I reach for his cock, so hard for me, and I stroke him, slicking him with generous amounts of potion, making him ready for me as he breathes raggedly above me, his eyes closed, revelling in the sensations of my hand on him.

I spread my legs wide again and grab the back of his head, gently pulling him closer to me. I press my mouth against his, trying to put everything I feel for him in that long, slow, languorous kiss.

He pulls back and I help him guide himself inside me. I let out a deep, long sigh when he finally breaches me.

There is no word to describe how complete I am feeling right this instant. How insanely happy I am as he inches himself forward with great care until I feel his pelvis pressed flush against me.

A little gasp escapes his lips and he closes his eyes, his head falling forwards on his chest. I gently run my fingers up and down his taut arms and wait until the trembling subsides. Draco opens his eyes again and tilts his hips forward a little.

“Oh,” he says, sounding surprised as I push him inside me with my heels, and he slowly buries himself deeper. It's the most amazing sensation ever.

He starts rocking his hips, so tender and considerate it makes my whole body shiver. I wrap my arms around his neck and bring him closer still, and we kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and it’s just wonderful. We find our rhythm and Draco places his elbows on either side of my head, his mouth just above mine and I revel in all the gorgeous little noises he makes as he moves faster.

“Harry,” he says on a long exhale, “Harry, oh God, Harry!”

He buries his face in my neck, his breath warm against my skin as he keeps speaking sweet nonsense in my ears, “Yes!” “So good,” and “Harry!”

“Oh!” I cry as he hits my prostate and fuck, I had forgotten how fucking good the whole thing felt. I can’t help thinking we should’ve done it sooner, Merlin, we should have done it way sooner. I can’t even think of a reason why we didn’t because bloody hell, this is fucking Heaven.

He grabs my legs and places them in the crook of his elbows, moving his hips faster now, thrusting deeper, and the sensation of being taken in this way, owned by this man I am so deeply in love with, is almost too much to bear. He bends forward and kisses my lips, kisses my chin, all the way to my neck where he buries his head again as he fucks me harder still, his hips rocking erratically.

I reach for my aching cock as the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the heat of Draco’s body on mine and his mouth back against mine threaten to send me over the edge.

“Harry, Harry, Harry!” he says over and over again, his movements hectic now as he loses control and I see his face, his beautiful face slowly morphing in pleasure as his own climax is near. He opens his mouth and closes his eyes.

The sight of him, of this man I’ve come to love so much over the last few months, the sensations as he fills me, making me his as he fucks me hard and long, all of this is overwhelming, and I arch my back and come harder than I have in years, harder than I ever have probably, clenching around him and taking him with me. He shudders and empties himself inside me, pure awe on his face as it lasts and lasts and lasts.

He crumples on top of me, his breath short and ragged in my ear and I close my eyes, the weight of his body on me a wonderful pressure as my heartbeat slows down, and my breathing steadies.

I take him in my arms, his head resting on my shoulder as I gently caress his damp hair, pushing loose strands behind his ear.

“Merlin, Draco, that was…”

“Brilliant,” he says. “That was amazing. I-” He kisses me. “God. We have to do it all the time, now.”

I laugh at that. “Hell, yes!” I rake my fingers in his hair. “Give me ten minutes though.”

He chuckles and I let myself be comforted by the sounds of our breaths slowly returning to normal. Draco’s hand rests over my heart, his fingers gently teasing my nipple as his eyelashes flutter against my skin.

My fingertips wander down his back, skimming his skin so he quivers under my touch, and he lets out a long, soft breath that washes over my stomach in the most delicious way.

“You’ve ruined the bed,” he says but I can feel his smile against my skin.

“Excuse me? As far as I remember, there were two of us ruining the bed.”

“You started it with your dirty shoes.”

I chuckle before placing a soft kiss on the top of his head, and then stare at the ceiling and count my blessings.

“You know it was my first time?”

“What?” My brain is still a bit fuzzy in the aftermath of this stellar orgasm.

“My first time. I’ve never done this before. Or maybe I have, but then… I don’t remember anyway.”

He runs his hands in circles over my stomach.

“Well, you certainly passed the test all right.”

He places a soft kiss on my chest. “I am a fast learner.”

“I’ll have to show you more very soon then.”

He tilts his chin up and gazes at me, a mischievous look on his face. “Can’t wait.”

**\- IX -**

Draco’s wish was granted.

If it took us months to finally have proper sex, we certainly made up for lost time in the days that followed. Something must have snapped inside us because it feels like we are unable to let go of one another.

We have sex all the time. And everywhere. On the couch, on the coffee table, on the rug in front of the fireplace, on the kitchen table… there is no stopping us.

Today is no exception. After one particularly imaginative coupling, we are lying in bed together. Draco’s eyes are fixed on the ceiling, studying each irregularity in it.

“When did you realise you liked boys?” he blurts out, taking me by surprise.

“After the war.”

“Really? How old were you again?”

“Around nineteen.”

“Wow, that’s pretty late.”

“Yeah… Well, I was rather busy before that and, well.” I shrug. “I think it was probably there all along, but I didn’t see it as an attraction back then, more like an _I want to be like him_ kind of thing.”

“And then you started dating boys after that?”

“Not exclusively.”

He props himself on his elbow, running his fingers lightly over my chest. “You mean you like girls _and_ boys?”

“Yes.” I place a soft kiss on his lips. “You see, when I like someone, it doesn’t matter much to me if the person is male or female.”

He keeps silent for a short while, and I can almost see the cogs working in his head as he processes what I’ve just told him. “So you’ve been with both? Girls and boys?”

I nod.

He bites his bottom lip and a slight frown appears, forming a cleft between his eyebrows. “Were you ever serious with any of them?”

“Yes. I was with someone for almost a year.”

He narrows his eyes a little. “Who was it?”

“Ron’s sister, Ginny.”

“Ginny?”

“You’ve seen her in the picture downstairs.”

He frowns. “You keep pictures of your ex-girlfriend downstairs?”

“She’s still a very good friend.” I can’t help smirking at him. “Why, you’re jealous?”

“No.” The pout on his lips tells me better.

“You are. You _are_ jealous.” I smile wider.

“No, I’m not,” he snaps and I just love the annoyed look on his face. I reach for his cheek, but he grabs my wrist before I can touch him. He pins my arm next to my head and leans over me, slitting his eyes. “Were you in love with her?”

I bite my lips to avoid smiling at the edge in his voice. I refrain from teasing him, sensing that somehow, this is important to him.

“I was. At first, at least. But then, she went to work abroad, I got caught up in Auror training and a lot of other things, and we drifted apart.”

He lets go of my wrist. “And you two broke up.”

“Well, obviously.” I snort. “You don’t see her hanging about the house, now, do you?”

He plainly ignores my joke. “Do you still see her?”

“Yes, I do. We don’t see each other very often, because she’s still away a lot, but whenever she’s around, we get together and catch up.”

He sits back, one leg folded under the other, and stares at a spot on the wall. He blinks a couple of times and his mouth twitches as he turns his attention back to me.

“Are you still in love with her?”

“Hm, let’s see.” I can tell he’s holding his breath and my lips curl up in a smirk. “Of course not, you silly twat. What kind of question is that anyway?”

“I don’t know.” His eyebrows furrow in concentration and he bites his bottom lip. Many emotions seem to pass over his face, and it’s hard to tell exactly what’s going on in his head.

“Hey. What’s with all the seriousness all of a sudden?”

He searches my face. His eyes roam over each and every feature, lingering on my scar for a second, moving down to my nose, my cheeks, my lips before finally meeting my eyes again.

“She’s not damaged.” It comes out as a whisper and my heart clenches painfully.

“Merlin, Draco, what are you-”

“She’s not fucked up.” he says, his voice hoarse, the words stuck in his throat. “She can live on her own. She can-”

“Don’t. Draco, no.” I sit and press my hand on his mouth. His face is drawn and he looks defeated when he removes my hand from his lips.

He looks at me long and hard. “She can cook breakfast.”

“I don’t care what she can do. She’s not you.”

Again, the intense staring. “But don’t you wish, sometimes, that you were with somebody else? I mean, someone more _capable_?”

“I’m not having this conversation.” I make to get out of the bed but he stops me, his hand on my thigh.

“Answer me.”

“Of course not! Why would I- I mean, nobody’s _forcing_ me to be with you.”

“But saving people is your thing.” His voice is cold now, less agitated than before, and it’s almost more worrying. I hate when he does that. When he tries to rile me up. Because it usually works.

“What?” I say in a low voice. “You think I’m keeping you here out of- what, pity? Because I have a saviour complex?”

“That’s not what I said,” he snaps. His features are harder than ever, and his whole body is tense.

“Well, it certainly sounded like it.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Look. Is it so fucking hard to understand that I’m with you because I care for you?”

“Exactly!” He’s making grand gestures in the air with his arms. “You _care_ for me.”

“Bloody fucking Merlin, Draco.” I can feel my cheeks burning as the words leave my mouth. “What are you going to tell me next? That I took you out of Azkaban because I felt lonely and thought it would be good fun to have you around? That it would help me pass time?”

Anger boils deep inside my veins and I slap his hand away when he presses it on my thigh.

“That I’m only keeping you here because you amuse me? That once I’m done playing with you I’ll send you back where you came from? Is it really so hard to believe that I simply just love you, you stupid fuck?”

He stares at me hard, scrutinising me. And then, a small, tentative smile appears on his face.

“What?” I snap.

“It’s the first time.”

“What?”

“You’ve never said it before.” He reaches for my cheek.

“Said what?” I frown.

Oh. _Oh_.

“I’ve told you before, many times, but you’ve never… It’s the first time you've told me you love me.”

“No, it’s not- I told Ron and Hermione the other day.”

“Yes, you’ve told _them_. Not me.”

I feel my cheeks heat a little. “Well…” I trail off, avoiding his gaze.

“Have you… Have you never told anyone before?” And the tone in his voice, completely different from the cold detachment of earlier on, unsettles me and oddly soothes me.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I smile.

“Answer me.”

“You know I haven’t.”

And then a beautiful, broad smile grows on his face. “Of course, I knew it. I’m special,” he boasts in a haughty voice that reminds me so much of the old Draco.

“Oh yeah, special you are, you stupid git.”

He cocks his head, a slight frown on his face. “In a good way, right?”

I kiss him, long and deep. “What do you think?” I murmur against his lips, my hand cupping his cheek.

“I love you,” he says, kissing me back.

“I-” I let my hand fall on his chest and look at him, so open, so sincere, so expectant. And then it’s just obvious. “I love you too,” I say against his lips as he pushes me down on the pillows and settles on top of me.

“God, Harry,” he says in between kisses. “You’re driving me crazy.” And then hands roam over skin as we lose ourselves in one another once again.

 

**\- DRACO -**

It’s a beautiful day. I’m sitting in the garden on one of the two chaise lounge Harry bought the other day, letting the sun warm my skin while he’s inside the house with Anna.

He has been rather mysterious over the past few days. Conspiring would be a more accurate word. I caught him whispering to Anna and Blaise a couple of times lately. Each time, I acted as if I hadn’t noticed, but I just loved the look on his face. A mix of pride and sheer happiness.

If planning my birthday party makes him that happy, there is no way I’m going to take that from him.

I run my thumb over my paper, again and again, and take a good look at the house.

My home. This is my home now. No. _Harry_ is my home now.

He is everything to me. My best friend. My lover. My family.

My home.

I crouch and put my paper on the stone terrace. Then I kneel next to it and take out my wand. All is quiet but for the soft chirping of birds in the nearby tree. The air is still. I take a peek through the windows, but no one’s in sight.

“ _Incendio,_ ” I say, flicking my wand like Anna’s taught me.

The paper, my paper, catches fire. I watch the flame grow and then slowly diminish, until it’s tiny and my paper is all black and tiny bits of ash detach from it and fly about around me.

When the fire is completely gone, I take the remaining ashes between my fingers and spread them in the air.

It feels like I’ve been born again.

 

  
_**Eight** _

_**** _

**\- HARRY -**

**\- I -**

_June, 2003_  
Fingers running over my naked waist.

“You’re here,” muttered against the back of my neck.

A day starting like any other.

“Morning,” I say as I settle on top of him, catching his mouth in mine. “Happy birthday,” I murmur in his ear.

Well, almost like any other.

He places his hands on my buttocks and grinds himself against me, barely controlled. I answer his thrusts in earnest and he spreads his legs, giving me better access. I swiftly remove his pyjama bottoms and curse when my legs get tangled in my own. I twist and turn, growing impatient, and then topple over the edge of the bed. I find myself with my back on the floor and my legs - still tangled in my pyjama bottoms - up in the air. I finally manage to kick them off.

Draco laughs his arse off, propped on his elbows.

“Bastard,” I say as I climb up the bed, and pin his wrists on either side of his head in retaliation. I straddle his chest and move further up, kneeling on his forearms until my cock pushes against his mouth, seeking entrance. Of course, he keeps his lips shut tight and turns his head so I rub my dick against his cheek.

“Hey, this is supposed to be my birthday!” he says.

“Apologise first.”

“For what?” he asks, an eyebrow raised in defiance.

“Making fun of me.”

“Oh, Harry,” he says, shaking his head and using the tone one would use around a five year old. “Making fun of you is apparently a definite trait of mine that three years in Azkaban haven’t managed to erase completely.”

“Open your mouth,” I say, rubbing the head of my wet cock against his lips, smearing precome on them.

“Fine.” He flicks out his tongue and licks the slit.

“Oh.” It comes out in a long moan and I close my eyes at the sensation.

I should’ve known better.

He takes advantage of the fact I’ve stupidly let my guard down to dislodge himself from my grip and shove me back, hard.

“Fucking Merlin, Draco!” I try to channel my disapproval into the darkest look I can muster.

“I’d rather be fucking you, if you don’t mind.” I could slap the annoying haughty smirk from his face, but right now, my body is more focused on the arousal shaking it to the core than on actively seeking revenge.

Before I can do anything about it though, he lunges at me and flips me over in one swift gesture, spreading my arms and keeping them firmly in place as he presses his body flush against mine. He doesn’t waste a second sliding his dick between my arse cheeks, and soon I’m whimpering way too loudly for my own good. I can almost feel the satisfied smirk on his face behind my back.

He lets go of my wrists to press his hands on my shoulders and spread even more precome on my arse. I can’t help bucking up against him, reaching for his hips to bring him closer.

“We’re getting a little bit impatient, I see,” he says in my ear.

 _“Accio Protective Potion,”_ I answer, because at one point, it’s not fun anymore. The bottle flies directly from the nightstand - we didn’t deem it necessary to put it back inside the drawer - into my hand. “Just take me now, you wanker.”

“You’re not asking very nicely,” he says, pouring potion on his fingers and slicking himself up before applying some on my entrance.

“Fuck, Draco. Just do it.”

He sighs, an overly dramatic sigh, and addresses an imaginary audience. “What can I say. I’m irresistible.”

“Shut up and fuck me already.”

He discards the bottle on the floor and enters me in one slow thrust, and shivers course through my body as I let out a long, contented sigh. My body relaxes at once. I revel in letting go completely, in granting Draco full control, trusting him to make it so good for the two of us. He starts riding me, slowly at first, rolling his hips above me, one hand on my shoulder, the other lingering over my back with gentle strokes of his fingertips.

“Fuck, yes.” I spread my legs wider, and Draco places his hands on my hips, pulling them up as I brace myself on my elbows, allowing him to fuck me deeper.

“Merlin, You- You feel so, so good around me.” The awe in his voice. “God, you- You like that? You like- God, Harry.”

There is no stopping us now.

Draco pulls on my shoulder and I rise up on my knees, my back against his chest as I settle on his lap. He wraps an arm around my stomach and places soft kisses in my neck as he fucks me faster. He’s here, he’s holding me tight, and he won’t let go of me. I’m safe here in his arms, safer than I’ve ever been with anyone in my whole life. My heart could burst with the sheer joy of being so close to him.

I have never loved anyone as much as I love him.

“Harry…” He bites at my earlobe as he rocks his hips. He kisses my neck, kisses my shoulder and the top of my arm. His hand on my stomach finds its way lower, and he tugs my cock.

“Fuck, oh fuck.” I whimper as I circle my fingers over his hand and make him stroke me faster and harder.

He pushes me back down on the mattress and his movements become frantic above me. I turn my head to look at him and I honestly think I could come from the sight of him fucking me, his hands on my hips, his eyes predatory, screaming ‘mine’ with every thrust. And he’s right, oh, fuck he’s right. I am his. Truly, deeply, inescapably his.

I reach for my cock again, and barely give it a few quick tugs, squeezing the head before my orgasm builds up deep inside me and I come copiously all over the sheets. Draco thrusts deeper, bending forward to place his hands on either side of me on the bed as he finally comes deep inside, riding out his own orgasm, crying my name. We crumple in a heap of limbs and I roll over on my back as we try to catch our breath.

“Wow, just- wow,” Draco says.

“Happy birthday.” My smile stretches from ear to ear.

“Should be my birthday every day.”

I chuckle. “We do this every day.”

He looks at me. “Not like that.”

“True.”

I disentangle myself from him and reach under the bed for the packet I put there last night.

“Happy birthday, Draco,” I say as I hand it to him.

He sits up “For me?”

“No, it’s for the next door neighbour.” I chuckle. “What do you think?”

He takes it in his hands, turning it around a few times, examining it.

“Looks like a book.”

“Open it.”

Draco rips the wrapping paper and takes out the album. He frowns slightly as he runs his hand over the dragon-hide cover. He lifts the cover with great care, and his mouth opens slowly as his eyes roam over the photos of his parents at different events, galas, and charity balls. His fingers freeze over a picture of Lucius and Narcissa smiling broadly as they waltz in earnest and have eyes only for each other.

“I’m sorry it took me so long, but it was more complicated than I thought,” I say softly.

“But how-” Draco says, turning each page with utter reverence. “How did you-”

“Blaise helped me. He asked Goyle, and Nott, as well.”

“It’s… God, Harry, it’s…” He shuts the album and throws himself at me, holding me so tight it almost hurts. “I can’t- God, Harry, I-”

“Shh, that’s okay.”

“Thank you,” he says in a breath. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me,” he murmurs against my shoulder.

“I think I do,” I mutter to myself.

“I’ve never- God,” he says with a sob in his voice as he pulls back and opens the album again. “They were… It’s them. Merlin, I can’t believe it, it’s them, for me to keep.”

He takes me in his arms again, and I feel his body hitch as he sobs quietly against my shoulder and I hold him tight, cradling him and whispering words of comfort.

**\- II -**

We spend the afternoon in the garden, focusing on the terrace to make it presentable for the guests tonight. I couldn’t really hide the fact that yes, I’d organised a party for his birthday, and Draco kept going on and on about it over the past few days.

It warms my heart to see how excited he is - he reminds me a little of Teddy on Christmas day - blabbing happily as we magic the weeds from between the stones.

We then proceed to clean the terrace with the hose, but it doesn’t exactly go as planned. Of course, I never should have let Draco hold it, because now that he has it in hand, he aims it at me and I gasp as the cold water hits me. Draco is laughing his arse off, and I can’t let that pass, obviously.

We end up completely soaked in a flash, Draco laughing so hard he lands on his bum, holding his ribs, his wonderful, clear laughter filling the air as butterflies flutter crazily in my stomach and I lunge at him, pinning him against the stones.

We sober up quickly as mischief is replaced by lust.

I hold him down firmly by the wrists as I let my eyes wander over his white tee-shirt, translucent from the water, and back up to his hair dripping on his face. I shiver at the look of pure _want_ in his eyes.

I crush my mouth on his, all wet and pliant and ready for me. I let go of his wrists and take his head in my hands, rolling my hips against his in an urgent, wild need.

It’s another hour before we are able to make it back to the garden to finish cleaning.

The first guests to arrive, at six sharp, are Anna and Blaise. Apart from Draco’s sessions, you can’t see one without the other these days. I smile as Blaise casually wraps his arm around Anna’s waist. Draco explains to them, in great detail, everything - well _almost_ everything - we’ve done today in preparation for the party.

We’re still chatting in the living room when Andromeda and Teddy step in. Teddy is his usual energetic self as he runs to his ‘cousin Draco,’ wrapping his arms around Draco’s legs before Draco hauls him up in his arms. Teddy’s hair immediately turns a platinum blond and Draco beams at him.

Ron and Hermione arrive next. If Hermione is fully comfortable around Draco now, Ron is still reluctant; I guess it’s hard to get over years of mutual animosity even if a lot has changed.

Goyle couldn’t make it. Officially, he had other plans, but I know he still isn’t very comfortable with Draco. He probably needs time to come to terms with the changes in his friend’s life. I can’t blame him, to be honest; it’s probably a lot to take in. I can’t say his absence really makes me sad though.

We all move outside. Draco boasts as he shows what we did with the garden - even though it’s still a huge field of weeds - and at the colourful banners and enchanted candles we’ve scattered everywhere. We’ll light them when the sun sets.

The party is gorgeous. We eat and drink and laugh, and every time we get a tiny bit too serious, Blaise says something funny, and the atmosphere gets light and joyful again.

When I bring in the cake, I don’t know who looks more excited, Teddy or Draco. He beams like a loon before blowing out his twenty-three candles.

The look on Draco’s face, when I Summon the presents from the kitchen, is priceless. Teddy ‘helps’ him open them - meaning, he rips the wrapping paper apart in less than two seconds before attacking another gift. Draco lets him, an amused look on his face.

I finally give Draco the second present I got him. I thought about it for a while, but had to ask Anna if this would be an appropriate present for him, if it wasn’t a bit too soon. Anna gave me the all-clear, so on a beautiful Saturday morning, I went to Quality Quidditch Supplies and got him-

“A broomstick!” There's awe in his voice as his eyes widen, reflecting the light of the Enchanted Candles all around us. “It’s the Firebolt Upstream!” He turns it over in his hands, examining it carefully. “It’s just-” He runs his palm on the ebony shaft reverently and rakes his fingers along the birch twigs.

“Well, if I’d known a broomstick would render you speechless, I can assure you, I would’ve- Umpf!”

Draco crushes his mouth on mine, and I’m so stunned that it takes me a couple of seconds to finally close my eyes and kiss him back. He holds me tight, and the broomstick presses hard against my back in a slightly painful way, but I don’t care. I kiss him eagerly, drowning in him.

When we part, everyone is very quiet around us.

“I think he likes it,” I say with a chuckle, feeling my cheeks heat a little.

“He’s always had a thing for long, hard sticks,” Blaise adds seriously, and bursts of laughter roll around us as Andromeda blushes a little and casts a quick glance at Teddy, who’s not paying attention to us, busy as he is, running after a moth.

We chat and drink and chat some more, and after a while, Teddy starts rubbing his eyes and whining, all the while claiming, “I’m not tired, Harry. I’m not tired,” in between sobs until Andromeda decides to take him back home.

The others follow suit, and Draco and I start clearing the garden, before sprawling on the chaise lounge for a while. I cast a quick _Evanesco_ on the Enchanted Candles, and then it's only me and Draco and a thousand stars up above.

I nearly jump as I feel Draco’s hand reaching for mine between our chairs.

“Thank you so much, Harry. It was a wonderful birthday,” he says.

“You’re very welcome.”

The stars above us shine bright, holding the promise of another gorgeous day tomorrow.

“Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve everything you do for me.”

“Hey.” I squeeze his hand and turn to look at him as he keeps gazing at the sky.

“I mean it. My life would be… well, maybe it wouldn’t be if it wasn't for you.”

There’s nothing I can really say to that, so I keep quiet. Our arms rock between the chairs.

“Will you take me flying?” he says after a while.

“Of course. That’s what brooms are for.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Well, maybe not tomorrow.”

“Why not?”

I turn to him and realise he’s now facing me, his hands pillowed under his face. I love the look on his face, so attentive and serious. “I think Sunday would be better.”

“Sunday?” He frowns. “Why wait until Sunday?”

“Because, for one thing we can’t really fly over here. There are too many Muggles around.”

“Oh, so… You want to take me somewhere else then?”

“Yes. And I know the perfect place for that.” I smile. “I want to take you out to the Burrow.”

He raises an eyebrow. “The Burrow?”

“It’s Ron’s parents’ house. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

He looks intently at me, chewing on his bottom lip. “And we’ll be able to fly there?”

“Yes. They have an orchard where we can go and fly without Muggles seeing us. It’ll be perfect, you’ll see.”

“Okay.”

He turns back to face the sky again. “I can’t wait to kick your arse up there,” he says, pointing at the sky.

“You wish.”

“Well, we’ll see.”

**\- III -**

“Say it. Say that it was the best breakfast you’ve ever had.”

Draco presses flush against me, pinning me against the countertop with his hips, his legs open around mine.

I lick my lips and look him straight in the eyes. “It wasn’t too bad.”

He raises an eyebrow as indignation takes over his face. “Was- Wasn’t _too bad_? Really, Potter?”

“Okay, I must admit it was nice.”

Draco narrows his eyes. “ _Nice._ You’re calling a wonderful, tasty, delicate breakfast _nice_?” He shakes his head and sighs, looking at me as if really, I didn’t understand anything about life. I love the look on his face as much as I love ruffling his feathers.

“Well, I suppose that the fact it wasn’t _burnt_ for a start was an improvement over the last time.”

I bite my lips because even though Draco and I are used to bickering all the time, I never know exactly how he’s going to react. I’ve found lately that laughing about serious matters helps him tremendously, makes him understand things are not all that bad after all.

He leans forward, placing his mouth against my ear. His voice is barely more than a whisper. “Let me tell you something, Potter.” He rubs his groin against mine and I let out a whimper. “You have absolutely no taste at all.”

“Well, I’m in a relationship with you.”

He narrows his eyes in defiance, and presses against my cock again. “You are so dead, Potter.”

“Oh yeah?” I reply suggestively. “And what exactly are you going to do to me?”

“You’ll s-”

The sound of the Floo in the next room stops him in his tracks.

“Er, are you presentable?” Ron calls from the living room.

“Oh, yes, we are. Currently fucking like bunnies on the kitchen table,” Draco calls back, and I can’t help laughing.

“Oh, ha, ha,” Ron replies as we meet him in the living room. “Very funny.”

“How are you, mate?” I ask as I hug him briefly.

“Ferret,” Ron says, turning to Draco.

Draco nods. “Weasel.”

“So, ready to get your arse kicked?” I ask Draco.

“You wish, Potter.”

“Right, let’s get on with it, then,” I say, grabbing the pot of powder from the mantelpiece. Draco is serious again, as he’s about to travel by Floo for the first time in years. “Ron is going to go first to show you how it’s done and I’ll stay behind just in case anything goes wrong.”

Draco frowns. “What could go wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing will go wrong, it’s just-”

“Well, I know people…” Ron stares at me insistently and Draco follows his gaze. “Who on their very first travel landed in the wrong place because they didn’t speak clearly enough.”

Draco raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face. “Really, Potter? You got lost on your very first attempt?”

“I- There was a lot of ash!” I huff in annoyance. “I just coughed, that’s it! And I was twelve, anyway!”

“Oh, someone’s getting his knickers in a twist, I see,” Draco snorts.

“Well, it _is_ a bit embarrassing, to be honest,” Ron says.

“Oh, shut up, you two. Let's go already.”

“Fine.”

Ron takes a pinch of Floo powder from the pot and steps up to the fire, throwing it into the flames.

The fire immediately turns green and rises high. Ron steps into it. “The Burrow!” he says in a clear voice and vanishes.

“Right, you think you got it?” I say, turning to look at Draco.

“I think so. It’s not that complicated.”

“No, it’s not. But please don’t get lost,” I say, holding his arm.

“I won’t.” He leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. “And if I do, I know you’ll come and get me.”

I smile. “Okay. Now go.”

Draco does exactly what Ron did a few seconds before and disappears into the fire. I grab Draco’s brand new broomstick as well as my old one, and follow suit. I stumble into the Weasleys’ small kitchen.

“Harry!” I barely have the time to make sure Draco has indeed made it safely before I’m smothered in Mrs Weasley’s warm embrace. “You look good!” She says, pinching my cheeks. I’m sure she’ll still do it when I’m forty. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Mrs Weasley.” I smile, casting a worried glance at Draco. Thankfully, Hermione’s taking care of him, showing him around. Draco’s eyes are everywhere, on every single little trinket in the cramped kitchen.

“I’m happy to hear it, dear. And it’s so good to see you here, too! Goodness, how long has it been?”

“Months.” I toss another quick glance at Draco. He seems to be fascinated by the Weasleys' clock.

She nods. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” She finally lets go of me. “Out of the kitchen, everyone. The roast is not quite ready yet and I need my space.”

We move to the living room, and Draco continues his examination of the Weasleys’ household objects. He’s particularly interested in a photograph of the family that was taken at Christmas a few years back.

He narrows his eyes and says in a low growl, “Ginevra.”

“Ginevra?” Ron scoffs. “Who on earth ever calls Ginny _that_?”

I wince at Ron behind Draco’s back and shake my head, mouthing a very clear ‘no’.

“I do,” Draco says dryly, stiff as a board. “And stop that immediately, Potter,” he drawls in his poshest accent.

“I’m not-”

“I can feel you.”

“Well, that’s creepy,” Ron says and I laugh. Draco sends me a dark look and I bite my lips.

Ron takes me a little further away and whispers. “What the hell is wrong with him now?”

“He’s jealous,” I murmur.

“Jealous?”

“Yes. Of me and Ginny.”

“Of- of you and Ginny?”

“I still can hear you, you know?” Draco says behind us and Ron and I burst out laughing.

The meal is scrumptious as usual and I can’t help smiling at Mr Weasley talking animatedly with a very serious-looking Draco about the latest Muggle treasures he’s discovered while Ron explains his latest mission to his mum.

“You’re smiling,” Hermione says next to me. “You smile a lot lately. It’s a good look on you. ”

I look at her. “Well,” I say, feeling the heat creeping up my neck. “It’s just-” I shake my head. “I can’t believe how far we’ve come.” I turn my attention back to Draco.

“Soon he’ll be completely independent,” she says, staring at Draco, who’s talking animatedly now.

Hermione’s words sober me up instantly. I just nod.

“Do you know what he’ll do then?”

I bite my lips and turn back to her, looking directly in her eyes. “I have no idea, Hermione. I don’t think about the future, I just- I want to focus on the present, on the good things that are happening right now.”

She smiles. “You’re right.”

“Dessert, everyone!” Mrs Weasley calls.

“Treacle tart, brilliant!” I say, happy to change the subject.

After the meal, Draco, Ron and I move out to the overgrown garden, our broomsticks in hand. It’s not as sunny as it was over the last few days, and it’s not all that warm either, but, in the end, it’s a perfect day for flying.

Once in the orchard, we settle on the small paddock and I hand Draco his broom.

“Right, the thing is, you were amazing on a broom when you were younger.”

“As I’ve been told,” Draco replies, raising his eyebrow suggestively, and I can’t help chuckling.

“Oh no,” Ron says, pointing his finger at Draco. “Don’t you even start with the innuendos and broomstick analogies or I’m out, all right?”

“Right,” I say, biting my lips to avoid laughing at the look of horror on his face. “What I mean is that, since you were so good when you were younger, it shouldn’t be too hard for you to get familiar with it again.”

Draco nods.

“So all you have to do is to mount your broom-”

“I’d rather be mounting yours, to be honest,” Draco says suggestively.

“Well, I much prefer yours. It’s longer for one thing, and much more comfortable to ride and-”

“HONESTLY?” Ron blurts out, an indignant look on his face that’s gradually turning Gryffindor red. “Could you two stop talking about how you like it long and hard for a second? Please? Because I swear I’m going to head back home right away otherwise.”

“Okay, okay,” I say, trying my best to avoid Draco’s eyes now. “I’m sure this is not going to be a problem for you. So now, all you have to do is get on it and kick off from the ground, hard, all right?”

“Right.”

“On the count of three: one, two, three!”

We all kick the ground at the same time and up we go. Draco flies a little bit off balance for the first few seconds, but quickly, as predicted, his reflexes are back and he's flying again like he’d never stopped. He soars over the ground, higher and higher up, a look of pure ecstasy on his face, comparable to the one he had when he first managed to use magic again.

I’m feeling good as well, following him in the air, Ron hovering above us, the wind howling in my ears, flying in circles. The wonderful feeling I had the other day watching the memory is back again. This is good. This is easy. This is pure bliss. We fly around in circles, and soon I see Draco testing the possibilities of his broom, pulling it up to fly higher still, gaining momentum, and then taking a sharp turn before gaining speed again and plunging fast.

I go after him, and then it’s Quidditch all over again, although without the Snitch. I shoot my broom towards Draco and try to catch up with him until we’re shoulder to shoulder.

“So?” I have to shout to cover the sound of the wind howling in my ears as we fly between the trees. “How does it feel?”

“Brilliant! Fucking hell, this is fucking wonderful!” he says, beaming, his cheeks flushed and his hair tangled from the wind.

I revel in the sight of him being so happy and free.

We fly, and fly, and fly, restlessly, pushing each other’s boundaries. We take turns chasing each other. Ron and Draco are relentless in their pursuit. Even up here, they fight, so high up in the sky, so caught up in petty rivalries that are the salt of existence.

We fly until our faces are a complete mess, damp with sweat and tears from the wind in our eyes.

We fly until our fingers get cramps and we can barely grip the handle.

We fly until our thighs ache around our broomsticks, and even that feels good.

When we finally land, I can barely walk, and my body aches in places I haven’t felt in years, but it doesn’t matter for one second.

Draco takes me in a tight hug and kisses me square on the mouth, sweat-plastered hair coming between us as we snog messily and brutally, and even Ron doesn’t find anything to say.

**\- IV -**

My body is sore all over in the days that follow, and Draco makes fun of me every occasion he gets.

“Old man,” he murmurs in my ear as he passes me in the kitchen after I wince while trying to grab a glass from the cabinet.

“Of course, there’s no risk of you getting aches anywhere because you’re so used to having a broomstick stuck up your arse twenty four seven that it doesn’t make a difference anyway,” I retort.

He shoves me against the kitchen wall, making me wince some more, and says in a menacing tone, his mouth very close to mine. “Oh yeah? Really, Potter? Well, why don’t you get in there and take it out with your special tool then?”

I burst out laughing. “That’s a terrible line, you know? And a terrible image. Fuck’s sake, Draco, I could be permanently traumatised.”

“I don’t care,” he says, pressing his groin against mine, making me moan wantonly. He narrows his eyes and licks his lips. “I’m serious, you know? About you getting in there.”

Oh.

Every time Draco and I have sex, and we’ve had a lot, I always bottom. It’s not that I don’t like to top, no. It’s just that, I don’t know, it feels… Well, at first it felt a little as if topping him meant I was taking advantage of him. Which is ridiculous, I know, but somehow it made me more comfortable to know that he could stop what we were doing any time he wanted to when I was the one bottoming. Not that he ever did. But then-

“Stop over-thinking things,” he says, caressing my cheek. “You won’t hurt me.”

“I know, it’s just-”

“Just what? It’s not as if I don't want it, I do.” He kisses me. “I want you to fuck me,” he says against my lips. “I really do.”

I shiver at the lust in his voice and wrap my arms around his neck. I kiss him hungrily, running my hands over the hard lines of his back.

He pulls back. “Is that a yes, then?”

By way of an answer, I take him by the hand and lead him upstairs.

Most of the time, our lovemaking is urgent and frantic, but this time it’s different; I really want to make it good for him. I take my time undressing him without magic, placing soft kisses on his chest, licking his nipples, running my lips and tongue over his skin, letting his soft moans of pleasure wash over me.

He arches back when I take him whole in my mouth, savouring the taste of him, teasing the slit, running my tongue around the head before swallowing him whole. I take him deep in my throat and revel in his reactions. We’ve done it so many times now that I know exactly what to do to make him lose all coherency. I know where to place the tip of my tongue to make him gasp; how to lick my way up his cock to make his whole body tremble with arousal; how to take him in my mouth and make him lift his hips up.

When I feel he’s close, I remove my mouth and crawl all the way back up his body. I place my hand on his cheek, caressing him gently before pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“You ready?” I murmur against his lips.

“Yes.”

“Right,” I say. “I’m going to go very slow, okay?”

He bites his bottom lip and nods.

I Summon the Protective Potion and grab his wrist. He starts as I pour the cold liquid into his palm. He looks up at me, an eyebrow raised in surprise as I bring his hand to my cock. I let out a soft sigh when he wraps his fingers around me. He slowly, achingly slowly moves his hand up and down my dick, slicking it with oil, getting me ready for him, and I let out a deep sigh.

I pull back reluctantly, slick my fingers with the potion and kneel between his legs. I take a moment, as always, to enjoy the view. Draco is sprawled on the bed, propped up on his elbows, his legs spread wide open, so incredibly trusting and beautiful.

“Just tell me if you need me to stop, okay?” I murmur.

“Okay,” he says in a breath.

I take his mouth in a kiss, stroking his face with one hand while the other finds its way between his legs. I rub my slick fingers over his entrance, tracing circles over it, pressing gently.

I keep kissing him, long and slow. “Touch yourself,” I say against his lips, and I feel his hand sneaking between us and he starts tugging at his cock.

“Oh.” He gasps as I finally breach him. I wait for him to relax and when his hand starts moving again, I press in further and he closes his eyes.

I bury my face in his neck, already way too far gone. I force myself to calm down a little before I push in further.

His breath hitches when I’m all the way in and I look at him.

“You all right?” I ask, searching his face for any signs of discomfort.

He opens his eyes again, his beautiful, piercing grey eyes. “I- Yes, I’m- It’s just a little… weird.”

“Good weird or bad weird?”

“Good? I guess?”

“Right.”

He gasps when I add a second finger, but I take him in another kiss, trying to distract him and soon he pushes against them, lifting his legs to give me better access.

“Merlin, it’s good,” Draco says, a little surprised as I feel his hand on his cock moving faster. “It’s really, really good.”

I smile, fucking him gently with my fingers, and he writhes around me, a deep, low moan escaping his lips. I could probably come just from the sight.

I pull out before that happens because, well, that would be disappointing.

“You ready?” I ask for the second time.

“Yes, God, yes!” he says. “I’m more than ready.”

I can’t help chuckling at the needy and almost desperate tone of his voice. I take myself in hand and position myself, lining up my cock with his entrance. I pause to look at his face, and my heart skips a beat at the desire in his eyes, the love, the _trust_ .

I push forward, my other hand on his thigh as I guide myself inside him in one slow thrust. His breath hitches and his legs tremble a little under my hands so I wait, caressing his thighs.

“Okay?” I ask, looking at him, trying to read his face.

“I- Yes, it’s-” He pants. “Just- wait a moment.”

“Of course.”

He closes his eyes again, and I run the tips of my fingers on his skin, raising goosebumps as I feel him gradually relax around me.

“Okay,” he says in a breath. “Go on.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I- Yes. Go on, please.”

“Right.”

I push a little further, as slowly as I can and before I know it I’m completely buried inside him. I pause, relishing the wonderful sensations at being inside him.

“Please move,” he says after a while and I start pulling all the way back before pushing in again, achingly slowly.

“Oh, fucking Merlin.” He arches his back and pushes back against me. “Bloody hell… It’s so- God.”

“Yes,” I simply say, looking for any sign of discomfort on his face. I begin to move.

“Fuck, it’s- It’s good, it’s-”

“Yeah,” I say, because God, he’s right. My head is dizzy with the sensations, and I reach down for his mouth. He lets go of his hand on his cock to take me in his arms, wrapping his legs around my waist. I press soft kisses to his lips, breathing him in as I roll my hips.

My thrusts are long and slow at first, but very soon I increase my pace and Draco moans in the most appealing way under me. His reactions spur me in, and I angle my thrusts to apply pressure in the right place, and God, it’s just brilliant. I kiss him again, and everything becomes more urgent; I could never have enough of him, enough of his scent, of his taste, of his touch. I thrust deeper still, reaching dark places inside him that I want to make mine.

“I didn’t- God, I didn’t know, I- Oh, God!” he says as I plunge my face in the crook of his neck, licking the tiny mole right beneath his ear. I increase the pace again, fucking him deeper and deeper still, losing myself in him.

He tosses his head back, groaning in pleasure, and his hands leave my back to fall on the bed on either side of us. He arches up, writhing and moaning loudly as I lace our fingers together, holding his hands down, and I close my eyes, unable to think anymore.

My thrusts are erratic, more urgent, almost wild now. He frees his hand and reaches for his cock, jerking himself. I’ve been in Draco’s place enough times to know that soon, it will be too much, too good.

All previous aches are completely forgotten as I feel my orgasm build up inside of me, but Draco beats me to it, clenching around me and coming all over his chest, chanting my name over and over again. I take a last look at his face, so beautiful and open beneath me as he loses himself in his passion, and I come deep inside him with a loud yelp, closing my eyes, basking in the sensations before collapsing on top of him.

“So?” I ask him, still panting as I wrap him in my arms.

“Well, it wasn’t too bad for an old man.” I slap him on his arse. “Ouch, you brute!”

“That’ll teach you to show a little respect. Besides, you’re older than me, you prick.”

“Yes, but I’m prettier.” He preens, fluttering his eyelashes in a ridiculous way.

“Shut up, you tosser. I need to rest now, since I was the one doing all the work.”

“Yes, for once. Now you see what it feels like.”

“As if I didn’t know.”

“You’d topped before?”

“Of course I had.”

“And what do you prefer?”

“I like both.” I shrug. “What about you?”

“Same.”

“Good. You’re allowed to stay then.”

“I’m glad we agree, Potter.”

**\- V -**

“Are you going to eat that?”

Draco blinks a couple of times and takes a look at the piece of toast he’s been absent-mindedly playing with for the past five minutes. “Oh, er, no, I guess not.”

He gives me the toast, and takes a sip of his tea. It’s a beautiful day, and we’re taking advantage of the wonderful weather we've had, spending as much time outside as we can. I found an old iron-wrought round table in one of the bedrooms upstairs and we now use it to have breakfast in the garden.

I spread butter on the toast, taking care to cover every single corner, and then add strawberry jam to the mix as Draco watches me, once again lost in his thoughts.

“You’re very quiet today.”

“I-” He sighs. “Yes, I guess I am.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I- I don’t know. I-” I press my foot against his under the table. “It’s about yesterday.”

“Yeah, I thought so.”

Yesterday’s Pensieve session showed our confrontation at Madam Malkin’s at the beginning of our sixth year, when Draco had called Hermione a ‘Mudblood’ again, and I had, well, insulted Draco’s mother. It wasn’t very pleasant, but, as usual, we took time to debrief it with Anna afterwards. We’ve started showing Draco murkier memories for a while, always balancing them with much sweeter, happier ones though, so that the overall feeling is not all that negative in the end.

“It’s just- I wonder what part of my beliefs during the war were truly mine, and what part came from my upbringing.”

“Well, your upbringing certainly played a huge role in it. I mean, remember when we first met? We were only eleven and you were already reciting your father’s beliefs.”

“Yes, but, you were eleven too, and didn’t buy any of it.”

“That’s because I wasn’t raised by your father.”

“Right, but then, look at the environment you grew up in. Those Muggles you lived with, they were- I mean they were pretty awful people, right?”

“Yes, but-”

“They treated you like shit. They kept you locked in a small cupboard that was supposed to be your bedroom; they abused you, you know?”

I nod.

“All I mean is that they were terrible to you. They made you feel like you were nothing, and yet… yet you didn’t become a pathetic bully who made the rest of the world pay for what those people did to you.”

“Because it’s simply not who I am. I certainly didn’t want to be like my cousin Dudley.” _Or like you,_ I refrain from saying. “I couldn’t be like them because I despised everything they were.”

“Exactly. So, why were you able to do something I never was? Why did I blindly follow what my family thought to the letter?”

“But that’s completely different! I hated those people. Of course I didn’t want to be like them or adhere to their narrow views of thinking! You, on the other hand, loved your parents, and your parents loved you; they were everything to you.”

“So that’s the difference? I clung to my father’s beliefs because I loved him-”

“You followed your father’s steps because you _trusted_ him. He raised you, showing you only one side of things, the side he believed in, and you followed him because you loved and respected him. You never had access to any other way of thinking until you came to Hogwarts. And then, it was way too late. His beliefs were ingrained in your brain and you were reciting his doubtful speeches to the letter. You believed in them, you sincerely believed your father was right, that some families were better than others, that some people were better than others. You believed in blood purity because that’s the way you were raised.”

“What about Sirius, then?”

My heart clenches painfully. “Sirius, well, that was-”

“He was raised in exactly the same sort of environment I was, if not worse.”

“You’re right, he was raised in a very bigoted family who shared the same views as yours. _But_ , the difference is that Sirius didn’t have the relationship you had with your parents. Because no matter what I think of them, your parents loved you and cared for you. Sirius’s parents didn’t hesitate to throw him out of the house and burn him off the family tree simply because he didn’t agree with them.”

“But he fought them. He defied them. He was ready to lose everything - his name, his money, his family - everything for his ideas. I never did.”

“Sirius was like me in the sense that he couldn’t identify with his family. He didn’t recognise himself in their values or their way of thinking. And it’s much easier to confront people you despise than people you love and who love you back.”

“So where does that leave us now?”

“Things are different, you know that.”

“Are they?”

“Well, the war is over, for one thing.”

“Of course it is, although there are people out there who still share my father’s views.”

“I don’t care about other people. They can believe whatever they want to; there’s nothing wrong with that. I mean, I highly disagree, but you can’t arrest people or condemn them for what they think. That’d be a terrible thing to do. That would be doing exactly what Voldemort did, what we fought against.”

“But what if I still had those views?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Do you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, some of what Voldemort said made sense.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, I mean, of course I don’t… I don’t believe for one second that people like Hermione are a threat to us or any of the bullshit about blood purity and so on.”

“But?”

“But you must admit that a part of it makes sense.”

“What part of it makes sense?”

“The fact that maybe we shouldn’t go too far in fraternising with Muggles.”

“We’re not having this conversation.”

“What? Hey, I’m trying to be honest here, okay? Look, I’ve thought about it a lot; I’ve read about it a lot-”

“What, in the _Prophet_? Oh please don’t tell me your references come from that pile of rags because that’s-”

“That’s not the point! The point is, could you live with someone who doesn’t exactly share the same views as you do? Is the love between us enough for you to stand by me? No matter what?”

“That’s n-”

“I remember more and more of who I was, of who I am. With every single Pensieve session, the pieces fall back into place and I get closer to the real Draco Malfoy. Can you deal with it?”

“The real Draco Malfoy? But you _are_ the real Draco Malfoy!”

“I’m not the one I used to be.”

“Well, no, because you’ve changed, like I have, like everybody has. You are composed of your past, like everybody, even more so since you now have a clearer picture of how things used to be, but the rest is still very much up to you. It’s all just a matter of choice!”

“You said earlier on that it was a question of who we were.”

“Yes, but not only. A part of what we think comes from who we are, how we were raised, and another one, the biggest part, comes from the choices we make based on our experiences. That’s why Anna and I are doing all we can to give you your memories back. So that you have all the cards in hand and are able to choose what works best for you, according to your own principles, your own morality. If we hadn’t, then maybe you would have embraced my ideals, because I would’ve been the only reference you had in life, like your parents were when you were little.”

“And wouldn’t that be a good thing? Wouldn’t you prefer I adhered to your views a hundred percent?”

“That would be comfortable, maybe. But it wouldn’t be right. I have no right to impose my views on you, of taking advantage of your state of mind to influence you in any way. I’d rather you be yourself and make your own decisions, no matter what I think of them. At least, they’d be yours, not mine. I don’t need to have a clone of myself. I’m not _that_ in love with myself.” I smile.

“So you mean you’d rather hate my guts, hate what I represent, but that I be true to myself, rather than agree with you and be-”

“Yes, because it’s not about me. It’s about you. I want you to recover for _yourself_ , not for my benefit, or anyone else’s.”

“What if I chose my father’s path, then? Would you stick with me?”

“You mean, if you went all the way with the pure-blood ideology and all that rot again?”

He nods.

“Honestly? No. I couldn’t. Your father embodied everything I despise, everything I fought against. But you’re not Lucius Malfoy, you’re _Draco_ Malfoy, and that’s- You and your father are different people.”

“Are we? Am I really that different?”

“Yes, you are. You-” I close my eyes briefly as pictures of what happened on the Astronomy Tower years ago dance before my eyes. “You’re not like him, trust me. You did things- You did things he wouldn’t have done.”

“But how do you know?” His cheeks are flushed now. “How do you know I’m not about to go on a rampage and torture innocent Muggles? How can you possibly know that? What if it’s ingrained in me, and by digging up the dirt, by making me want to reconnect with who I was, unearthing things that were better left buried?”

“It’s a risk worth taking. Look, I believe in you. I’ve got to know you over the last several months, and it’s not because you’re not exactly who you were before that you’re that different either. I mean, you’re still you, no matter what. And once again, I think you’re seeing it from the wrong angle. It’s not what you _are_ that matters, it’s what you _choose_ to be. You’re not inherently bad, Draco, nor am I inherently good.”

“Many people seem to think you are, from what I read in the _Prophet_.”

I sigh. “God, I really wished you wouldn’t take what’s written in it for granted. Yes, some people tend to think that I am- I don’t know - some kind of perfect, flawless hero that can achieve absolutely everything and will always be there to protect them, no matter what. But I’m very far from perfect, as you very well know, and I have my doubts, lots of them. And I’ve done things I’m proud of, but I’ve also done things I regret, just like anybody else. And you’re no different. You’ve made choices I disagree with, but you also did good things.”

“What good things?”

“You saw them. And I’ve already told you about some of them.”

“Show me more.”

“What, you want to see a memory?”

He nods.

“Now?”

“Yes. Why not?”

“Anna’s not around.”

“You think we can’t handle a Pensieve session without her?”

“It’s not- It’s not that. It’s just- I’d rather have her advice. I don’t want to do something that would-”

“Then tell me. Tell me what I did, that according to you, _proves_ that I’m not going to turn back into some racist bigoted bastard the moment I get all of my memories back.”

“Fine.” I take a deep breath. “At one point during the war, Ron, Hermione and I were on the run, trying to find the Horcruxes to destroy Voldemort. But then, along the way, we were caught by a group of Snatchers.”

“Snatchers?”

“They were- Basically they were after money. The Ministry - under Voldemort’s influence - was tracking down everybody with _dubious_ blood status, and the Snatchers - well, the Snatchers went after them and brought them to the Ministry where they’d get gold for every single wizard or witch they brought in.”

“Nice,” he sneers.

“Yeah. So they caught us, but right before they were able to put their hands on me, Hermione cast a jinx that made my face swell so much they wouldn’t recognise me.”

“Clever.” He smiles.

“I know. She really is.”

“Anyway, it didn’t work really well because one of them recognised Hermione from a picture they got from the _Prophet_. They knew she was travelling with me.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah… So instead of bringing us to the Ministry, they decided to take us to your home.”

“Because my home…”

“Was Voldemort’s headquarters, yes.”

“Continue.”

“They took us there, and your… aunt, Bellatrix, wanted to be absolutely sure I was the real Harry Potter because if she made a mistake, there would be terrible consequences for her and your family.”

He nods.

“So, your mum called you and asked you to come and have a look at me. See if you could recognise me. My face was terribly swollen, my eyes were reduced to slits and I could barely see. And yet, you recognised me instantly.”

I reach for his hand across the table and entwine our fingers together. “But you didn’t say anything. You said you couldn’t be sure. And when they asked you about Ron and Hermione, whom, of course, you recognised, you still remained very vague. It saved us. It gave us time and ultimately, it allowed us to get away.”

“So I’m not… I wasn’t entirely bad?”

“Of course you weren’t.” I sigh. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Nobody is. It’s far more complex than that, you know. It’s not all black and white. Thinking we’re only led by what we are deep inside is a pathetic excuse to act like a shit. Everybody has a choice. You are what you want to be. That’s the most important thing you should think about. Who you really want to be; what kind of a person you want to be; what you want to do with your life.”

He smiles, a small smile that gradually widens.

“What?”

“You’re really good at this, you know?”

I shrug. “Well…”

“You really should consider being a Healer like Anna.”

“Well, I’m not sure I’d be like that with other people. And you’re not my patient.”

“I know.”

“Because what we do together would be highly inappropriate if you were my patient and I was your Healer.”

He chuckles. “Hell, yes.”

“Speaking of which, if you’re done with our little morning pep-talk, we could…” I raise an eyebrow suggestively.

He laughs. “Merlin, Harry! Do serious talks really make you horny?”

“ _You_ make me horny.”

“I can live with that.”

I cover the distance separating us in an instant and soon find myself straddling his lap and kissing him hungrily, forgetting all about serious discussions and life changing events.


	4. Chapter 4

  **PART IV - SUMMER**

_“Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence._  
Le Petit Prince, Antoine de St Exupéry

  
_**Nine**_

_**** _

**\- HARRY -**

**\- I -**

_July 2003_  
The garden is my favourite place these days. After the work Draco and I did on his birthday to make it acceptable for our guests, I went to buy a few tools to make it look even better.

I spent a huge part of this beautiful Saturday morning decluttering the garden, flicking my wand over and over again until the grass - or rather, the sea of weeds I call grass - was completely free of any branches, rotten fruit or rocks.

Now I have to trim it before I can even think about using the reel mower. It will probably take hours, considering the grass reaches my knees, but I don’t mind. I enjoy being outside; I enjoy doing something useful; hell, I enjoy doing something full stop. I grab the trimmer - which is really more like a big pair of scissors - from the bag and start to work.

The discussion with Draco got me thinking long after it was over. I’m glad we had it though, and that he was able to tell me what was bothering him. But since then… He’s different. I mean, there’s nothing that really stands out, but it’s just a feeling I have, he’s more… he’s quieter.

I tried to get him to talk to me again, but every time he just shuts down and it’s impossible to push further. So I let him be. I tell myself he will share whatever's bothering him when he’s ready.

Trimming the garden is more boring than I had expected. After the first few minutes having fun playing with my new toy, I realise it’s really going to take me hours to get it all done. The sun is already quite high in the sky, and even if it’s still just a regular ‘English’ sun - meaning it’s never really that hot - I start sweating.

I take a look at what I still have to do and decide to take a break. Perhaps I'll meet Draco inside, maybe talk him into joining me for a shower. I smile; he shouldn’t be too hard to convince.

I put the trimmer back in the bag, remove my garden gloves, and take out my wand to Summon the different tools I’ve left all over the place and put them in the bag with the trimmer.

Then I head for the house.

As soon as I set foot in the hallway, I sense that something’s wrong. Like Draco lately, it’s too quiet.

“Draco?”

He’s not in the kitchen, so I head for the living room.

“Dra-” The world around me stops.

Draco is kneeling by the coffee table, his head in the Pensieve.

I waste no time. I grab his hand and jump into the Pensieve with him.

  **\- II -**

We’re in a room that I recognise immediately because I’ve already been there. Not physically though, but through the connection I shared with Voldemort.

It’s dark, the only light coming from a roaring fire in the fireplace.

An imposing blond man lies on the floor whimpering, restrained by invisible ties as Voldemort scrutinises the room, a cold rage distorting his features, making his mouth twitch in a horrible grimace.

He roams the room, his long black robe trailing on the dark hardwood floor as a group of Death Eaters - including the Goyles and the Malfoys - keep their heads lowered in submission. Draco stands by his mother’s side, and the expression on his face is exactly the same as the one he wore during his Marking. Pure terror.

“Now, it really is difficult for me to choose who would be the least incompetent of all to perform this simple task.”

A movement catches in the corner of my eyes, and I see Bellatrix’s body shake with excitement. “My lord?” she says tentatively, and I hate the look of utter elation on her face.

Voldemort spins quickly and sends her a look so dark she hastily scarpers back to her previous position. He scans the room, passing a few Death Eaters. When his eyes roam over Lucius and Narcissa, they bow their heads even more, trembling. He stops in front of Draco and I can hear the breath hitch in his throat.

“Draco.”

Narcissa releases a whimper, and I see her eyelids flutter as her head remains bowed.

“Proceed,” Voldemort says dryly.

Draco takes a tentative step forward looking absolutely terrified. He slowly passes in front of Voldemort, his head still bent as he reaches the shivering figure on the floor. He casts a fleeting glance at his parents, who don’t even dare to raise their heads, while Bellatrix looks like she’s about to wet herself at the sight of her nephew about to apply everything she’s taught him.

Draco’s wand shakes uncontrollably in his hand, and he keeps casting little glances all around him, carefully avoiding the body on the floor.

“I am so disappointed, Rowle. Such a waste of my time. Draco,” he says, his eyes fixated on Rowle as Draco jumps at his words. “Begin.”

Draco raises his still trembling hand. “Cru- Crucio,” he says in a barely audible voice.

A few snickers echo into the room at Draco’s poor attempt, immediately silenced by the look of cold fury on Voldemort’s face.

“Cru- Crucio,” Voldemort says in a high-pitched voice, mocking Draco’s. “Really, Draco, is that the best you can give Lord Voldemort?”

Draco doesn’t answer and just keeps his head bowed, panting and trembling.

Lucius takes a tentative step forward. “My L-”

“ENOUGH!” Voldemort covers the distance that separates him from Draco and places his wand under Draco’s neck. He presses his chest against Draco’s back, his mouth next to Draco’s ear as he says in whispers loud enough for the rest of the room to hear. “Now, now, Draco. Certainly you can do better than that. You would not want Lord Voldemort to show you how to use a Cruciatus curse on your mother?”

Draco swallows hard, and without further thought, raises his wand hand and points it at Rowle. “CRUCIO!”

Rowle’s body is projected into the air by the strength of the curse before falling heavily to the floor. The sounds that escape his mouth don’t resemble anything I’ve ever heard. He howls in pain, writhing and twisting so violently I am afraid for a moment he might dislocate a limb. And then the shouts stop and Rowle falls quiet again.

The whole thing must have lasted no more than a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Rowle’s figure spasms on the floor as the room is once again dead silent.

“More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord Voldemort is not sure he will forgive this time… You call me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure… do it, or feel my wrath yourself!”

At Voldemort’s last words, the scene shakes and then freezes before the memory changes to one of Draco’s own.

We’re still in Malfoy manor in what looks like the drawing room. A dozen of people - Death Eaters I presume, since I recognise a few of them - are gathered around a long, ornate table. The room is eerily silent.

I start as my eyes fall on someone hanging upside down above the table, revolving slowly as if suspended by an invisible rope.

Cold washes over me as the person slowly turns in my direction, and I recognise her at once.

Charity Burbage.

“Do you recognise our guest, Severus?” Voldemort asks from one end of the table, as Snape raises his eyes to look at her, impassive.

“Severus! Help me!” Charity pleads. Hearing her voice like that sends shivers down my spine, and Draco is trembling from head to toe, unable to take his eyes away from the table.

“Ah, yes,” Snape says.

“And you, Draco?”

Draco, sitting next to his parents, shakes his head frantically.

“But you would not have taken her classes,” says Voldemort. “For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Voldemort caresses the head of his hideous snake, letting his words linger in the air and gauging the effect they have on his followers.

“Yes… Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles… how they are not so different from us…”

“Severus… please… please…” Charity says in a broken voice.

“Silence,” Voldemort says as he flicks his wand - which I realise is not his but Lucius’s - and no more sound escapes from Charity.

“Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defence of Mudbloods in the _Daily Prophet_. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the pure-bloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance… she would have us all mate with Muggles… or, no doubt, werewolves…”

The room remains eerily silent at Voldemort’s words, full of rage and contempt. Charity Burbage revolves again slowly, facing Snape. Tears pour from her eyes into her hair.

_“Avada Kedavra.”_

Charity’s body falls heavily on the table as several Death Eaters jump back. As for Draco… Draco falls out of his chair.

“Dinner, Nagini,” Voldemort says softly, and the great snake starts feasting on Charity’s remains. I hear sobs on my left and realise the Draco from the memory is crying.

A sudden twitch in my hand reminds me what I’m doing here. Draco. Oh my God, Draco! I got so caught up in the scene that I completely forgot why I had plunged into the Pensieve in the first place. I pull him out of it swiftly, holding his trembling hand tight in mine as my living room appears around us again.

  **\- III -**

The look on his face.

God. In an instant, I’m taken back to when I first saw him in Azkaban on that fateful day last summer. Draco looks absolutely terrified. He’s incredibly pale, and his mouth is open in shock. He pants in rapid short breaths. But it’s not all; he’s not with me anymore, and his eyes, God, his eyes are empty as he stares without seeing.

“Draco? It’s all right, we’re back now.”

No reaction.

“Draco?”

I reach for his arm but as soon as my fingers brush him, he curls up on the floor, bringing his knees to his chest, his arms around them as he starts rocking back and forth, staring blankly forward again.

Now he definitely looks like the Draco I took out of Azkaban.

“Shit,” I say, looking around the room frantically, searching for something, anything, that will help me get him back from whatever place he’s locked himself into. “Shit, shit, shit.”

A very painful feeling settles in my stomach. My eyes fall on the fireplace.

I hastily scramble to my feet and grab a handful of Floo powder and throw it into the hearth. “Anna,” I say and after a few seconds that seem like years, her face appears in the fire.

“Harry, what’s going on?”

“It’s Draco,” I say as I hear voices behind her and she turns around to talk to someone.

“Draco? What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s- He went to see one of his memories on his own, an orange one…”

“Oh.”

“And now he’s-” I turn to look at him, still rocking himself, still staring at the void, still trembling hard. “He’s- He’s in shock, I think.”

“Okay, give me a moment.” She withdraws from the fire and I return to Draco, taking a seat beside him.

“Draco? Please talk to me.” Still no reaction. Tears prickle in my eyes. This can’t be happening, it simply can’t.

The Floo roars to life, and Anna steps into the room. She rushes to Draco and has him lie down after casting a cushioning spell. Then she Summons the throw from the couch and covers him with it, keeping him warm as she flicks her wand over his unmoving body, muttering incantations.

I stand there, helpless, letting her take care of him as I try my best to keep the thoughts and guilt that assail me away. I don’t want to think right now. All I want is for him to get better.

After what feels like hours, the colour returns to Draco's face, and his eyes have lost the stupor that had my skin crawling earlier on. Anna helps him to stand up, and guides him to the couch where she sits next to him. I Summon the blanket and fold it in four before laying it on his lap.

“Okay, Draco, you’re going to stay here for a short time while I go and talk to Harry, all right?”

No reaction.

“We will be right next door if you need anything.”

Still no reaction. My legs are weak under me as we move away.

“What happened?” Anna whispers as soon as we reach the door. We’re standing in the door frame so we can keep an eye on him. He hasn’t moved an inch since we moved him to the couch.

“He- I was in the garden, everything was going fine, and then when I came back inside, I saw him in the Pensieve and I-” I sigh. “God, how could I have been so stupid?”

“Hey, it’s not your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong, okay?”

“Yes it is! I should have got him out of it sooner, instead of-”

“What’s done is done.” She presses a reassuring hand on my arm. “Do you have any idea what prompted him to do it? I mean, has he been behaving differently over the last few days or-”

“He-” I pause to look at him, still sitting on the couch, still staring straight ahead. “I dunno, I- Yeah, I think he- He was a bit quieter the past few days, you know? It wasn’t much, but no, he hasn't been his usual self. It wasn’t blatantly obvious, but I- He seemed to be doing a lot of thinking these days.”

“Do you have any idea why?”

“I- Yes. Yes, I do. We…” I look at him again, then back at Anna. “We had a rather serious discussion the other day about who he is, who he had been, and about his beliefs.”

“What was it about, exactly?

“Basically, he was afraid that by having him see what he once was, and by recovering his memories he would- He was afraid he would be back to what he was before, and that we wouldn’t- we couldn’t be together anymore.”

“Yes, that seems to have been on his mind lately. And what was the memory he watched? You said it was an orange one?”

“Yes. At first it was the memory of his-” I lower my voice. “His torturing the Death Eater.”

“Oh.”

“And then it morphed, and he accessed one of his own memories, something I had never witnessed first-hand, but that I’d heard about during the trials.”

“What was it?”

“It was the murder of Charity Burbage, a former Hogwarts professor, by Voldemort, right in front of his eyes.”

“Oh my.”

“Yes. It was absolutely terrifying, honestly. I’ve seen people die, but the way it happened? Voldemort cast her the killing curse and then had his snake eat her. Right in front of him.”

“Well, that explains the shock.”

“Fuck.” I push my glasses back up my nose. “I just can’t believe it. I mean, everything was going so well, he was almost completely-” normal, “ _himself_ these days, and it was so, so good to have him like that, and...” I rake my fingers through my hair, making it even more of a mess than usual.

“I know,” she whispers again. “But you must remember that even though he’s not fully recovered yet, he’s made tremendous progress.”

“But we’re back to the beginning!”

“No, we’re not.” Anna’s voice is firm. “Draco’s having a setback, but it’s not enough to erase everything he’s accomplished over the last several months.”

“I just can’t believe it,” I say again. Anger replaces worry in my head as pictures of Terrence fucking Burbage quietly having breakfast in his kitchen, pop up in my mind, and my hands start trembling so much I have to hold them together. I want to hate the man, hate him with all my might for what he inflicted on Draco, for keeping him in Azkaban for longer than he should have, and at the same time… If Burbage ever got his hands on the memory of his wife being murdered so savagely...

I take a deep breath. “Okay, so what now?”

“I-” Anna tosses a glance at Draco still staring at the void in the living room. “I’ll help you get him upstairs, and then, I'll go back home for a few minutes-”

“God, I’m so sorry, Anna, you had plans-”

“Don’t worry about that. When I’m back, I’ll have a session with him to try and get him to talk to me, okay?”

“Right.”

Draco allows himself to be dragged upstairs without protest. Anna leaves us at the door.

I make Draco lie down. He complies, but shows no reaction whatsoever. He simply lets me move him, and my heart clenches as it feels like we’re back to almost a year ago, no matter what Anna told me. I lie down behind him, my chest pressing against his back as I wrap him in my arms. The sun high up in the sky, brings light and warmth to the room, and I press soft kisses to the back of his neck, breathing him in.

This is so fucked up. We had it. It was there. After months and months of patience, hard work, support, we had it. Draco was back to his old self; he was making amazing progress and then, it all went wrong. In a sense, it’s even worse than when he first got here because now I know what's missing.

And then, there’s the memory. I’ve seen pretty terrible things during the war, especially during the battle of Hogwarts. I remembered - even before seeing it again in the Pensieve - how Voldemort had used Draco to his own ends. But Charity Burbage’s murder? That’s something- That’s something terrible for a seventeen year old to see, something bad enough to haunt you for the rest of your life, Azkaban or not.

But no matter how horrible her death was, it was Voldemort who killed her. Not Draco. My fingers start trembling again when I think about how it all went wrong at the trials. Draco should never have been sent to Azkaban. His father deserved it, I have no doubt about that, but Draco? If Draco had to be punished, which is not for me to say, well then house arrest would have been more than enough. Draco didn’t deserve Azkaban. He didn’t deserve to spend a year there. He certainly didn’t deserve to spend more than three years in that place because nobody cared enough to make sure the people in charge of the prisoners didn't bear a personal grudge.

I realise my fingers are gripping Draco’s side a little bit too hard so I remove them. I sit on the bed, breathing hard.

  **\- IV -**

When Anna comes back, Draco hasn’t moved. He’s still lying in bed, his hands pressed together under his head, staring vacantly forward.

“So?” Anna says.

“Nothing.”

“Okay. I’m going to spend a couple of hours with him, if that’s all right with you?”

“Of course, whatever you need.” I sit beside Draco on the bed, running my hand in his beautiful hair. He doesn’t even react to my touch. “I’ll leave you with Anna.” I kiss him on the lips, and when I pull back, nothing has changed.

I sigh. “Right, I’ll leave the two of you.”

“Do you have people you can go and visit? Ron and Hermione, maybe?”

“No. They’re away for the weekend. Went to see Charlie in Romania. Took a Portkey early this morning.” I'd been the one insisting they go. They had both been working so hard lately, that I thought it would be good for them to spend a little time away from their crazy life here.

“Do you want me to call Blaise then?”

“Blaise?” I stand up. “No. I- I have things to do.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” This is probably not the best idea right now, but it doesn’t matter one second. I have to do something. I just can’t stay at home, helpless, waiting for- I take another look at Draco. “Yes. A couple of hours you said?”

She nods.

“Okay. I’ll be back by then.” I walk to the door and cast a last glance at Draco before turning to Anna again. “Thank you so much again, for everything you do.”

“Don’t mention it.”

I rush down the stairs, and I’m out of the house in a flash.

  **\- V -**

My mind is reeling as I run more than walk to the closest Apparition point. I need a few minutes to clear my mind before I can Apparate without risking Splinching myself.

I put on my Cloak as soon as I arrive in Hogsmeade and head for Burbage’s house. Like the day, so many weeks ago, he’s quietly sitting in the kitchen, reading the _Daily Prophet._ I remove my Cloak, take out my wand, and am ready to barge in when I remember that there are possibly a huge number of wards and spells on the door, placed both by the Ministry and by Burbage himself. I take a deep breath, trying to rein my anger in a little before I knock so hard on the door that my knuckles hurt.

Burbage opens the door and looks me long and hard.

“You took your time. I was expecting you sooner,” he says as he walks nonchalantly back to his kitchen as if he had no worry in the world.

I close the door behind me and follow him into the kitchen, my hand tightly clutching my wand.

“Take a seat.”

“No, thanks.”

He scrutinises me again. His eyes fall on the wand in my hand, then dart back up to my eyes. I want nothing more than to smack the smug look off his face. “Fine.” He sits back in his chair and disappears behind the _Daily Prophet_ again.

“So, how is he doing?

I tighten my grip on my wand. “Not so good, thanks to you.”

He lowers his newspaper, and narrows his eyes, a tiny satisfied smirk on his lips. “I’m very happy to hear that.”

I lunge at him, and in a second, have my wand trained at his throat, yanking him by the collar of his shirt. “You fucking arsehole.”

Burbage’s smile disappears, replaced by something harder. “What are you waiting for, Potter? Do it.”

I press the tip of my wand deeper against his skin.

“Come on, do it. I don’t regret a single thing, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. The only regret I have is that you took him out before he was completely dead inside.”

A biscuit jar on the counter behind Burbage bursts into pieces.

“Really? Is that the best you can do?” Burbage taunts. I curl my fist tighter around his collar, not enough to strangle him, but enough to make his breath catch in his throat. “Did you defeat Voldemort by breaking his mummy’s china?”

“You had no right to do this,” I say through clenched teeth. “Justice wasn’t yours to serve.” My face is so close to his that I can see the tiny rivulets of sweat forming on his forehead.

“Oh yeah? And whose was it, yours? Please.” He sneers, bringing his face closer. “Some hero you are,” he spits, his voice full of disdain. “I had faith in you, believed in you. I believed you would make things right and you didn’t,” he hisses and I press my wand deeper still; he whimpers. “You didn’t do your job, you, the so-called saviour. And not only that, but you had the gall to speak for them at the trials.”

“I did what was fair and only spoke the truth. The Malfoys helped during the war.”

“Oh yeah? Did they, now?” He narrows his eyes in defiance. “Do you know what your little _boyfriend_ was doing while we were fighting at the battle of Hogwarts, while we were all risking our lives?”

I hold my breath as I brace myself for what is about to come.

“The little spineless piece of shit was on his knees, pleading to a goddamn Death Eater for mercy.” I swallow hard. _“I’m Draco Malfoy, I’m Draco, I’m on your side!”_ Burbage says in a high-pitched voice, mimicking Draco pleading for his life. “But you already know all about it; you were there, weren’t you? You’re the one who saved his sorry arse at the time, am I right?”

I release Burbage and see him cast a quick glance at the counter on his right.

“Don’t even think about it,” I say, my wand pointed at him. _“Accio Wand.”_ Burbage’s wand flies into my other hand. I put it in my pocket.

“Draco is no murderer. He’s never killed anyone. And you had no right to interfere in a decision made by the Wizengamot,” I say, trying to hide the trembling in my voice. “The Malfoys, just like anybody else, deserved justice. They deserved a fair hearing and a fair sentence, no matter what crime they were tried for.”

“Death would have been a fair sentence,” he spits.

“You make me sick.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” he snarls.

That’s when I see them.

They were there all along. The _signs_ were there all along, but I was way too blinded by my own feelings to acknowledge them.

It makes something inside of me ache.

A pink wellington boot peeking from behind the door.

Chocolate frog wrappers on the kitchen counter.

A couple of miniature dragons on one of the chairs, a third one abandoned on the floor.

And then, right in front of my eyes, the testimony of long gone happier times. In my anger, in my resentment, in my deep hatred for this man who stole other people’s lives, I had not seen the obvious.

This is a house where a family lives.

This is a house where _children_ live. And if the framed picture on the shelf above the sink is proof enough, there are three of them, two boys and a girl.

Three children.

_Children._

Children who now have to live with a part of themselves missing.

Just like Draco. Just like me.

I look at Burbage, and then at my wand hand before looking back at him again.

He scrutinises me as I slump onto the nearest chair, my free hand in my lap.

“She was only forty,” Burbage starts, and I meet his eyes, still hard and unforgiving. “She was only forty, and we were about to celebrate Elizabeth’s first birthday.” His eyes fill with tears. “We were happy. We knew what we were risking, but we were happy.”

Burbage bends over to pick up the toy dragon on the floor and looks at it, the little thing writhing and puffing smoke between his fingers. He discards it with the others on the chair and the little dragon shakes its head before falling immobile again.

“I didn’t want her to write the article, but she insisted. She said that it was her duty, and that we had to stand for what we believed in. She was always so passionate, so open to others, so eager to get to know them. And she loved her students; she loved her job so much.”

I take a look around and try to imagine the life of these people. It couldn’t have been very different from the one my parents and I had.

“That day, she took the boys to Honeydukes while I looked after Lizzie. They came back with buckets of sweets. I always scolded her because she spoiled them so much.” Burbage’s eyes get shiny. “She dropped them off at home and said she had to go out again. That she’d received an owl earlier and that she had to go to Hogwarts for an urgent meeting.”

Burbage gazes out the window. A single tear falls down his cheek. “We waited for her. I bathed the kids, set the table, and we waited for her. Lizzie started crying because she was hungry, so I fed her. I remember sitting right here as I kept peeking out the window. But then I knew. I knew that that was it. That I’d never see her ever again. That from then on, it would only be the four of us.”

He turns to look at me. “They kept her three days in that cold cellar. Three days during which they barely fed her. After three days, she was in a terrible state. They-” Burbage stifles a sob and closes his eyes, his fingers trembling on the kitchen table. “They had her hanging from the ceiling and she begged for her life. She begged Snape to save her, but he- he didn’t.”

“Snape couldn’t save her without compromising-”

“HE LET HER DIE!” He stands up so fast the chair hits the ground with a resounding thud.

I stand up as well, pointing my wand at him again. I swallow the lump in my throat and when I speak again, looking straight into his pale blue tearful eyes, my voice is steady. “I know. But he had no other choice.”

“They could’ve saved her, but they didn’t!” he bellows. “None of them lifted a finger to rescue her! And she died there, all alone, devoured by that hideous creature.” He wipes the tears with the back of his hand. “These people had to pay, someone-” His voice cracks and all sign of contempt is gone. He shakes his head, defeated. “They had to pay.”

I want to say so many things. That yes, it was an awful way to die. That yes, this is absolutely terrible for three children to grow up without a mother. That I’ve been there too. That her death was terribly unfair and all kinds of wrong. That it’s making me sick to the stomach to think about the way she died. That she was a brave woman, who didn’t die in vain, because somehow, she helped build a better world in which her children will hopefully grow up in peace, and that is priceless.

But I can’t. I just can’t.

“Draco was seventeen,” I say instead.

Burbage raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything.

“Draco was seventeen and you’re right. He was, in many ways, a little shit. He was arrogant, haughty, and as bigoted as his father in many ways. And we hated each other’s guts.” I shake my head. “But he certainly didn’t deserve to suffer like he did, like he still does. Nobody does.”

Burbage rubs his hands on his face, and lets out a deep sigh, looking away. “Like I said, I don’t regret anything. The pain- It was so overwhelming, I couldn’t think straight, and I had to do something.”

A sliver of cold runs all over my body. “No remorse then?”

He turns to me, holding me in a defiant gaze.

“None.”

I take a deep breath. “Then I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for you.” I take out his wand from my pocket and hand it back to him.

He looks at it, and then at me before wrapping his fingers around it. I hold on to it and for a while, we’re both holding it, a murmur of magic slowly coursing between us through the connection from the wand.

“Draco never killed anyone. He’s no murderer,” I say as I finally let go of the wand. “He was there when your wife was murdered, but he took no part in it. He was absolutely terrified.”

“But his family-”

“He’s lost his family. Just like you’ve lost your wife. And he’s also lost a huge part of himself, because of you. He’s paid the price.” I take a last look around. “I’m sorry for your children, terribly sorry, because now they’ll have to grow up without both their parents. It didn’t have to be like that.”

I pass in front of him and head for the door. Burbage doesn’t even follow me. I step out and take a deep breath as I walk to the closest Apparition point.

  **\- VI -**

It took three days for Draco to start talking again.

Three long, agonising days he spent mostly in bed, vacant-eyed, only eating and drinking enough to keep his body functioning.

Three days I spent wandering about the house in a state of numbness, thoughts coming and going from my frozen brain without taking residence.

Anna did her best, but there was only so much she could do. She remained optimistic though; to her, it was only a matter of time. It was just Draco dealing with what he had seen, dealing with his past and what he had been. To her, Draco’s setback was salutary; it meant he’d fully reconnected with the person he was before. His apathy was a signal he was working towards his future.

I really hoped she was right.

Ron and Hermione were very supportive, of course, as was Blaise, who visited every night and spent time with Draco, talking to him, one-way conversations just like in the beginning.

When I open my eyes this morning though, I immediately feel something has changed. I remain on my side for a few seconds, trying to make out Draco’s soft breath in the silence of the room but I already know he’s not next to me; I sense it.

I roll onto my back, and ,sure enough, I’m all alone in bed. But Draco’s not far.

He stands by the window, his hands behind his back, staring at the vegetation below.

I pull the sheets off me, grab my glasses and put them on. I sit on the bed, rubbing my feet on the soft carpet on Draco’s side.

“Do you really believe in redemption for people like me?” are the first words that come out of Draco’s mouth after three days. Three long days. His voice is slightly ragged after going so long without being used, but it’s calm nonetheless. Determined.

“You know I do.”

I know not to scare him despite the shock of him coming out of his shell again. I walk slowly until I’m standing right behind him, and press a tentative hand on the small of his back. His breath hitches when I touch him, but he lets me, so I wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my chest against his back. I brush my mouth against the soft skin of his neck, and I press a kiss there, inhaling him as I close my eyes for a second. His hand settles on mine over his stomach as he leans into me.

“Do you really believe there’s a life for me somewhere?” His voice is soft, barely above a whisper. “That I can live in the world, interact with people, be near children, have a job, meet up with friends; in other words, have a normal life, knowing what I did?”

“Of course,” I murmur against his skin, drunk on his scent, his soft blond hair tickling my nose.

“Even knowing that I once tortured someone? That people were killed before my very eyes and that I didn’t do anything to help them? Can I lead a normal life knowing I nearly killed people, that people died because of me, that I willingly took the Mark, thus entering the very select inner circle of a madman who killed hundreds of people in the name of blood purity? Can I really live with that?”

I interlace my fingers in his on his belly as I rest my chin on his shoulder. “Yes. Yes to all of that, Draco.”

“You sound so sure.”

“That’s because I am.”

“How? How can you be so sure?”

“Because of your ability to love. It makes all the difference.”

“Love.”

“Yes. And your remorse.”

We stand there by the window, watching the first raindrops fall in the garden, Draco pressed flush against me. I close my eyes, gently rocking him in my embrace, back and forth slowly, simply happy to know that he’s all right. How long do we stay like that? I can’t tell. But when Draco speaks again, quietly, there is a definite sense of finality to it.

“I have to go.”

All of a sudden, it’s as if my deepest fears escaped from the comfortable little box I had buried them in and exploded all around me. Ripples of cold wash over me as emptiness fills every single inch in my body. I make a huge effort to hide the turmoil inside me, to prevent my hand from trembling beneath his.

“I know.” It comes out a little breathier than I would’ve liked, but it’s not too bad, considering the world’s just shattered around me.

“I have to go and find myself,” he says again. “And I can’t do that if I stay here.”

“I know.” I blink a couple of times to get rid of the prickling in my eyes that threatens to bring tears I refuse to shed. Not in front of him anyway.

He gently unclasps my hand from his and turns around. He runs his thumb over my cheekbone before tilting my chin up, forcing me to look at him.

I don’t let him. I swiftly turn around and walk to the bed, picking up my clothes from the floor. I don’t want him to see the distress on my face, to see how bad it hurts to hear the words I’ve dreaded to hear for weeks, knowing they’d come at one point. I'd tried to prepare myself for them, and I knew they would come eventually. But it had always been part of a relatively vague, far away future. It was never meant to happen now. But now he’s said the words, now they’re out in the open, and there’s only one way to go forward.

“When will you leave?”

“The sooner the better.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“It doesn’t mean we should stop seeing each other. It’s just-”

“Don’t. Just, don’t.” I turn around so fast my head spins.

“Harry.”

“Don’t play the ‘let’s remain friends’ card when we both know it’s over.” I force the huge lump down my throat. “And it’s good. It was meant to happen, from the very beginning. I knew you were going to leave at one point, I just-” I shake my head. “It’s for the better anyway. It’s important, and I’m happy for you, I truly, sincerely am.” I place a tentative smile on my face. “It’s great news, Draco.”

He crosses the distance between us, takes me in his arms and I shut my eyes tight against his shoulder. This is it.

“Thank you, Harry, for giving me my life back.”

I cling to him, holding him a little tighter than necessary, one hand fisting his shirt, the other raking his beautiful, soft hair for the last time as I do my best to memorise this moment, to store every second of it in my mind, the pulse in his neck, the sound of his breathing, the softness of his skin, his heady, unique scent.

“It is not the end,” he says as he pulls back and I ache at the loss of him. Merlin, how I ache. “It’s the beginning of something new. For you, too. You need your life back as much as I do.”

“My life is fine.”

“No, it’s not.” His voice is soft and there’s a gentleness in it that touches me deep in my bones. “It’s not, and you know it. And that’s also why I have to go. Your happiness and wellbeing shouldn’t depend on my presence here, on yet another successful saving. You are so much more than just that, Harry, so much more. And what you are should be shouted from the rooftops, it should be out there in the open, it shouldn’t be confined to this dusty house.”

“All right, I…” I gesture to the door. This is not a conversation I want to have right now. “I’ll just- I’ll be downstairs, if you need me.”

“Okay. I’ll join you there in a moment.”

And just like that I leave the room, closing the door to another important part of my life.

  **\- VII -**

A couple of birds seem to be playing tag in my garden and I force myself to follow them with my eyes as they hop from branch to branch. I try my best to forget all about the sounds coming from the bedroom.

I push away the thoughts that assail me, willing my head empty, focusing on what is happening outside right here and then.

After a while, I hear the bedroom door open and Draco’s steps on the stairs. I take a deep breath and place a smile on my face before I turn around to face him.

He’s leaning in the door jamb, holding my navy-blue duffle bag.

“I took this to put my things in, if it’s okay with you?”

“Sure.”

“All right.” He walks into the kitchen, keeping the table between us. “I think I- I’m going to go now. you’re going to be fine?”

I want to scream. I swallow hard instead. “Yes, of course.”

“Good.” He places the strap on his shoulder and heads for the corner of the room where his broom stands.

“Where are you going to stay?”

“At Blaise’s.”

“Right.” Somehow, I’m slightly relieved that he’s not going to be out in the world on his own right away.

“So, I think that’s it, then.”

“Yes.” My feet seem rooted to the spot, my whole body so stiff that I’m sure I’d be incapable of moving if my life depended on it right now.

“Okay.” He rounds the table and hugs me briefly. The smell of his cologne clings into the air even as we part. “Thank you again for everything. I’ll never forget it, Harry. Never ever.”

I nod again, biting my lips. At this point, I can’t trust my voice to remain steady anymore.

“Goodbye then.”

I watch his back as he moves to the living room and I close my eyes when I hear him throw Floo powder in the fireplace. He says in an assured voice, “Blaise’s house.”

_**Ten**_

_**** _

**\- HARRY -**

**\- I -**

_July 2003 (Continued)  
_ Draco’s gone and my body has a hard time registering the fact. I don't seem to be able to move as I stand there, mug of cold tea in hand in the middle of my way too silent kitchen.

Suddenly the house around me, so welcoming and warm and cosy only a few days ago, feels cold and alien, almost menacing. It looks as if it’s aged ten years in a few minutes, as if it had taken in my grief and was sympathising with my pain.

I shake my head. Now’s not a good time to have crazy thoughts.

I have to do something. Anything to get my mind off the ache in the pit of my stomach.

I send my mug flying to the sink, Summon my broom, and head for the garden. Once there, I cast a quick Disillusionment Charm on myself and mount my broom.

I push all conscious thoughts away as I kick off the ground hard. I fly high in the air, as high as I possibly can, taking in the breathtaking view of London from a distance. I remain hovering in the air for a second or two before I pull up on the handle and shoot straight before me.

I don’t have a goal. I fly, and fly, and fly, faster and faster, going where the wind takes me, revelling in it whipping my face and making my clothes flap against my body. I get high on the cold breeze up there, racing through the sky, beating my battered body.

I fly and fly and fly and soon the city view is replaced by large patches of green as I move north through the countryside. The wind in my ears makes thinking impossible and this is exactly what I’m looking for as I push my broom faster still, and it starts vibrating in my hands and I wonder fleetingly if I could bring it to breaking point.

I pass picturesque landscapes, tiny fairy-tale-like cottages spread across large patches of grass as the knot in my stomach gradually relaxes and tension leaves my body. I close my eyes and let my head spin from the speed as sensations grow more intense.

A hitch in my side makes my eyes pop open as I keep on going as fast as I can, pushing my body to exhaustion, relieving the tension from the past few days as I soar over little villages.

It’s only when I feel that I’ve given it everything I can, that there’s nothing left inside of me that I turn around and head back home.

**\- II -**

“Where on earth have you been?” Hermione’s voice is the first thing I hear as I step into my house. “Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been? Ron’s gone looking for you and here you come…” She walks to me, looking more furious than ever and hits me hard on the arm. “All sweaty and disgusting and oh, God, Harry, I am so, so sorry!” she says, taking me in a hug.

“Er, it’s all right, Hermione, I’m all right.”

She pulls back to look at me. “How can you be?” she asks, her arms resting in mine. “Anna told me about-”

“It’s for the best.” I smile. “It was high time for him to leave. He didn't have any more reasons to stay here.”

She shakes her head, a cleft forming between her eyebrows, a look of concern on her face. “Really?”

“I promise you, I’m fine.” I force another smile.

“You’re coming home with me for dinner tonight.” I open my mouth to protest but she raises her hand to stop me. “You are. You’re going to have dinner with us, all right?”

“Will you be cooking?”

She narrows her eyes. “Of course not.”

“I’ll come then.”

“Git,” she says, slapping me on my arm again and I let out a small chuckle.

We stop to order Indian takeaway at a place near where Ron and Hermione live. They moved into the flat as soon as Ron was done with Auror training. Just like my house, it’s located in a Muggle area.

I accepted Hermione’s invitation because I knew I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I didn’t, but I don’t regret it. We spend the evening chatting about everything and anything, and there are even moments when my stomach isn’t churning at the thought of what happened this morning.

When we’re done, Ron starts yawning more than is reasonable and I stand up to leave.

“You should stay here,” Hermione says. “Just for tonight.”

“Yeah, mate, stay.”

I shake my head. “I need to go home.”

“You sure you’re going to be okay? I mean, you can stay here as long as you want and-”

“I’m fine, Hermione. Stop worrying about me. I’ve survived worse; I’ll survive this. It's not the end of the world.”

She stares deep into my eyes for long seconds. “Of course you will. Just take care of yourself, okay? I’ll check on you in the morning.”

“You don’t-”

“I will.”

I sigh. “Right. Talk to you tomorrow then.”

I take a pinch of Floo powder and disappear into the fireplace.

  **\- III -**

I land in my dark living room, shadows dancing on the walls as silence immediately overwhelms me.

I cast a _Lumos_ and head upstairs without looking back. Once on the landing, I hesitate.

I take a look at the two doors in front of me; on the left, my bedroom, on the right, Draco’s.

I open the door to my bedroom. I try not to think about how long it’s been since I’ve slept here. Months. I undress to my underpants and slip under the sheets. I start shaking uncontrollably so I grab my wand and cast a Warming Charm under the covers.

I wrap myself in the soft warmth and close my eyes.

I’m almost surprised when a tear starts in the corner of my eye, swiftly followed by another, and another, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop them.

They pour and pour and pour and I lie here, alone in my empty house, sobbing uncontrollably. I roll over on my side as tears keep pouring out of me, and cry like I haven’t done in a long time.

I cry for losing Draco. I cry for what could have been and isn't. I cry for all the wrongs in my life, and I shed the tears I never did in the past.

After what feels like hours, I fall asleep, exhausted.

  **\- IV -**

I wake up and it takes me long seconds to remember what happened yesterday.

Wonderful seconds, during which, I bask in blissful oblivion, waiting for Draco’s fingers to run over my side, waiting for the usual ‘You’re here’ whispered in my ear, waiting for his warm body to press flush against mine before it finally strikes me that no, he’s not in here with me. I am well and truly alone.

I sit on my bed and take a deep, long breath, closing my eyes and opening them only when I feel ready to do so.

Move on.

I force myself to go and take a shower - in my former bathroom - dress, and head downstairs.

Of course, Draco’s not there making me tea, not today, not tomorrow, not ever again, and I just have to live with it.

 _It’s for the best,_ I tell myself over and over again, like a mantra, wishing the words would finally sink in so that I can get on with my life.

I try hard not to think about the fact that there’s nothing much to my life at the moment.

I cling to the little ordinary things and make tea, drinking it while I stare at the garden. I jump as I hear a floorboard creak upstairs. I close my eyes and imagine Draco coming up behind me, wrapping me in his arms.

I pop my eyes open.

Move on.

Hermione arrives shortly afterwards, faithful to the promise she made last night.

“How are you today?” she asks immediately.

“Good.” I smile. It’s my default setting in front of her these days.

“How did you sleep?”

I shrug. “Not too bad, considering.”

“Right.”

We sit at the kitchen table and I listen to Hermione distract me with stories from work, carefully avoiding anything related to Draco. He is, of course, in every single one of my thoughts, in every single object in this kitchen, in this ridiculous mug I wanted to crash against the nearest wall this morning and that I finally took to drink my tea.

“… party?”

“What?” I ask.

“Your birthday party.”

“Oh, I…” I’d forgotten about that. Like completely. Why would I care about my fucking birthday party when I've lost the only person who matters.

“You can’t not celebrate your birthday, Harry.”

“Why not?”

“Because, it’s just not done.”

“I honestly don’t want to do anything.”

“Well then, don’t. Maybe we can just do a little something at the Burrow. I’m sure Molly’d be happy to help.”

“I-” I start, ready to tell her that I really, really have no desire to do anything for my birthday. But then, I know she’d be disappointed. “Er, yes, why not.”

“Okay, now, who do you want for your birthday?”

“Draco,” I blurt without thinking. “Fuck.” I stand up so fast that the chair falls on the floor with a loud thud. My eyes prickle. I didn’t know I still had any tears left.

Hermione doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me.

“Sorry,” I say.

“Don’t apologise.”

“Fine. I’m not sorry.”

Hermione’s mouth slowly curls up in a weird lopsided smile, and, for some reason, the look on her face does me in and I suddenly burst out laughing.

And then she’s laughing too.

**\- V -**

In the days that follow I try my best not to let myself sink. I force myself into a routine of sorts and stick to it. It works much better than I’d expected.

Even if the temptation of staying in bed all day is high, I get up, take a shower, do a little bit of cleaning and then go out to fly. Sometimes I fly for hours. Sometimes I’m exhausted after only a few minutes. It doesn’t matter.

Move on.

It’s not an easy thing to do. Not when every inch of this house reminds me of him, his absence so overwhelming sometimes, it takes me by surprise and punches all the air out of my lungs. I already avoid Draco’s bedroom like the plague. I haven’t set foot inside it since the day he left. Too bad I can’t do the same with the living room or the kitchen.

I try to adapt. The other day I spent hours moving the furniture around, over and over again, objects flying around me with every flick of my wand. I even changed the colour of Draco’s favourite armchair. It went from red to white, to blue, to grey. I changed the cushions and removed the frames.

When I was done with the living room, I did the same with the kitchen.

It didn’t work much. The morning after, when I went downstairs, everything was back to what it had been before. I wasn’t surprised; this house always seemed to have a mind of its own. Or maybe I’m the one responsible for that. My nights are a little bit unstable lately, so I can’t really say.

To avoid spending too much time in the house, I decide to focus on the garden. I take out all the tools I bought a few weeks ago and lay them out them in front of me on the terrace. The sun is high in the sky, the birds chirping happily in the trees, and it really is the perfect day to garden. Only I have no idea where to start. I take my time looking around, trying to remember what Neville had taught me all these years ago.

Neville.

I go back inside the house and get on my knees in front of the fireplace.

To say Neville is happy to see me is an understatement. And to be honest, I’m happy to see him too. I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed him. How much I’d missed his easygoing personality and his kindness. I invite him inside, and then take him to the garden, telling him what I’d like to do. Of course, he has loads of ideas. He congratulates me on the job I’ve already done and gives me advice, promising to come back with plants and more tools the next weekend.

And so, the following Saturday, we’re back in my garden. The weather’s not as nice as before, but at least it’s still warm. We set to work, and Neville tells me all about his job as a Herbology professor at Hogwarts, how odd it had been at first to stand in front of the students when he’d been one not so long ago, and how intimidated he still is by McGonagall. We talk about our common experience of leaving the Aurors - although Neville left them way before I did - and it feels good to be able to talk about it freely, without a nagging feeling of guilt.

We dig out weeds and turn the soil, making it ready to welcome the new plants Neville brought. I wanted to pay him for it, but, of course, he refused. I make a mental note to invite him over for lunch.

And then the conversation moves to different grounds. We kneel in the grass, bent over a flower bed when he tells me he’s got a new girlfriend, Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff from our year. I remember her from the DA, although I’ve never really interacted with her beyond that when we were at school. Neville looks completely besotted, his face lightening up when he talks about her, the way I probably did with Draco.

After that, we remain silent for a while as we place the little rosebush in the hole we dug. Neville opens and closes his mouth a few times as if wanting to say something but thinking better of it at the last minute.

When we’re finished with the rosebush, I turn to him.

“It’s okay, Neville. You can ask me whatever you want, you know.”

He looks at me and does the gaping thing again before finally speaking. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, go ahead.”

“Fine.” He wipes his hands together and sits back on his haunches. “Ron and Hermione told me about… about Malfoy, and what you did, and… how it all evolved, and how you managed to help him, and…” he bites his lips and looks at me. “The war really got him bad, didn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, I won’t lie, I don’t- Well, you know how I feel about him. He’s not my favourite person in the world.”

I can’t help smiling at that. “Really? I don’t understand that. Draco’s been nothing but incredibly kind and gentle to you all these years. He even went as far as showing you the different possible uses for your Remembrall.”

He laughs. “Well, at least it allowed you to make it on the Quidditch team.”

“True.”

“But honestly, I’m not sure I ever hated anyone at Hogwarts more than I hated him.”

“Have you met Snape?”

He laughs again. “I didn’t hate Snape; I was afraid of him. It does make a difference, you know. But then of course, it all changed with the war.”

“Everything changed with the war.”

He nods. “Indeed.”

At the end of the day, my garden is even more beautiful than in my memories and it makes me incredibly proud and accomplished.

That night, I sleep much better than I have in days.

  **\- VI -**

I’m never left alone more than a day at a time. Not that it bothers me. It keeps me busy and prevents me from rehashing unwanted thoughts.

Today, it’s Mrs Weasley, Andromeda and Teddy’s turn to show up in my living room.

Teddy is oddly quiet for once. He keeps looking around; I wonder what Andromeda told him about Draco.

I take advantage of Mrs Weasley and Andromeda going outside to take a look at the garden, to take Teddy on my lap on the couch.

“Hey, what’s bothering you, Teddy?”

“Nothing,” he says, and brings his tiny hand to his mouth as his hair turns a pale-white blond. My heart clenches at the sight.

“It’s okay, you know. We can talk about it.”

He’s biting his lip, staring at me, unsure about what to do or say. “Grandma said it would make you sad.”

I smile. “Go ahead. I’ll be all right.”

“Why did he leave?”

I take a deep breath. “Because he needed to take care of important things in his life.”

“But couldn’t he do it with you?”

“Well, sometimes you have to do things on your own. It’s important for him, you know?”

“But aren’t you sad that he’s gone?”

“I am. I’m terribly sad. I miss him very much.”

Teddy traces the outline of my glasses with his finger. “Are you angry with him? That he’s gone?”

I take my time to answer that. “No. I’m not angry. I know it was the right thing to do.” I hope I sound more convinced than I really am.

Teddy draws his eyebrows, forming a little cleft between them as he seems lost in concentration. “Do you think he’s sad he had to leave then?”

“I think so.”

“Then why did he do it? If you’re sad and he’s sad?” He shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Because sometimes, you have to do what is right, even though you know it might hurt.”

“How can it be right if it hurts?”

Merlin.

“Well, it does take a lot of courage to leave someone when you know it’s going to be hard.”

He presses a finger on my scar, tracing its pattern with his fingertip a couple of times before looking into my eyes again. “Like my mum and dad?”

“Yes. Just like them.”

“Tell me again how brave they were.”

And I start telling Teddy stories of his parents like I’ve done so many times before. He keeps his hair blond the whole time as he snuggles against me, sucking his thumb, holding the little plush dragon I gave him for his last birthday very close.

Andromeda gasps as she enters the living room and sees his little blond head on my chest.

“It’s okay,” I say. “We’ve just had a little chat.”

  **\- VII -**

 _A hand against my neck that slowly glides down my shoulder._  
  
 _The trail of fingertips swiftly followed by the soft caress of lips, brushing the skin of my back, making me shiver._  
  
 _Going down, down, down, the tip of his tongue trails a long wet stripe along my spine._  
  
 _I arch my back._  
  
 _His other hand comes to rest on my hip, soothing, caressing its way to my arse._  
  
 _Soon, both his hands are on my arse cheeks, and he places kisses, light as a feather, all around my tailbone._  
  
 _I let out a low moan that starts deep in my chest and ends on my lips, whispering, ‘Draco.’_  
  
 _I feel him smile against my skin as his hands move up and down my sides, and I arch my back again, wanting more, needing more._  
  
 _His kisses are not as soft as they were before; they’re more insistent, more urgent; he’s claiming me with them._  
  
 _I’m ready to surrender._  
 _  
_A sharp noise against the window prompts me to wake up, and there’s a moment when I just refuse to open my eyes. My body’s on fire, my erection pressing hard against the mattress.

But the noise starts again, and then a _tap tap tap_ on the window pane forces me to acknowledge it.

I spring out of bed, stark naked in retaliation, as if my state of undress would have any impact on the owl waiting outside. The bird blatantly ignores me as I open the window and it flies inside, dropping the _Prophet_ on my bed.

Bloody fucking _Prophet_. I really don’t know why I subscribed to it again a couple of weeks ago.  
 _  
_I Summon five Knuts from the nightstand and put them into the small leather pouch tied to the owl's leg. I shoo the bird outside.

I wank harshly under the shower, quick, angry strokes that bring me to the edge, but don’t remove the intense craving for _him_ the dream has brought back to the surface. It was there, so reachable!

And then I had to wake up.

I grab the first set of clothes I find on the floor and head downstairs, seize my broom and kick off hard from the ground as the last prickle of the Disillusionment Charm fades away.

I push my broom to its limit, flying higher and harder than ever, allowing the cold wind to fill me up as I try for the umpteenth time to remember how on earth Draco leaving was supposed to be a good idea in the first place.

When I’ve been outside for hours and still have no answers, I head back home, exhausted, but feeling somehow better than when I left.

I slump on the couch with the _Prophet._ I skim the Good News section absentmindedly, ready to skip the Bad News one, and go directly to the International section when the title ‘Dragon Mascot Stupefied’ catches my eye and my heart misses a beat. For a second I thought… I find the International section and start reading an article about the illegal trade of Dark Artefacts that’s apparently plaguing Bulgaria these days when the Floo roars to life, and Neville's head appears in the fire.

He has an odd request: he needs someone to help him with the greenhouses at Hogwarts and thought about me.

“I’ll only need you Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays when I’m in Greenhouse Two conducting experiments,” Neville says, “It’s only for a few weeks anyway, a couple of months tops.”

I really don’t know what to think about the whole thing. On the one hand, it’s tempting, because I’d have something to do, something that wouldn’t take me too much time, and that would allow me to leave the house and have a purpose. And, I must admit I need that much more than I thought. Rehashing dark thoughts here is probably not such a good idea in the long term.

On the other hand, it’s Hogwarts. I haven’t been there since the last time I went to see McGonagall, and I must admit, I have mixed feeling about going back.

But then I take a look at Neville’s face in the fireplace and he’s so expectant that, in the end, I know I can’t really refuse.

“All right, then.”

Neville’s face lightens up. “Brilliant!” he says. “Can you start right away?”

“Um, I don’t know, I’m rather busy these days, I need to check my schedule first.” I smirk and Neville laughs. “Of course.”

“Thank you so much, Harry!” Neville says, taking me into a hug. “I owe you one!”

“You’re very welcome.”

  **\- VIII -**

The first time I set foot again at Hogwarts, I’m assailed with a multitude of memories that seem to come back all at once and blend together in an extraordinary mess. Memories of what I’d considered my home for a long time, and that will definitely be engraved in my mind for as long as I live. I grew up here.

If I really had apprehensions coming back, I find that it’s far from being as intimidating as I thought it would be. The fact that it’s the summer probably helps too. There are not many people around. Even McGonagall is away at the moment.

The castle looks exactly as it had before the war. It’s as if nothing has changed. I don’t know why it surprises me, because Hogwarts has been through many traumatic events in its history, and has always, always managed to get over them, regenerating.

I decide to arrive early to go and visit Hagrid first. I walk to his hut, breathing in the warm summer air. To say Hagrid’s happy to see me is an understatement. He takes me in a huge bear hug and I feel my heart clench a little at the thought that I haven’t given him much in the way of news over the last months. Last time I sent him an owl was… well. I don’t even remember.

Of course, Hagrid doesn’t resent me for it one second, and invites me in straight away, and I have a hard time speaking as it feels as if I've gone back in time. I almost expect Ron and Hermione to knock on the door and join us for tea. I listen to Hagrid telling me all about the wonderful creatures he’s managed to introduce to the curriculum for the upcoming year as Fang snores loudly on the floor next to me.

An hour later, I make my way to Greenhouse One.

“Neville?” I call as I knock on the open door. I step over empty pots and tools scattered on the soil-strewn floor as a whiff of damp earth and fertiliser assail my nostrils.

“Harry!” Neville says, and I hear a loud clattering of pots falling to the floor - some of them breaking in the process - followed by a “Bloody hell. _Reparo!_ ” It takes me several seconds to finally see him, buried as he is in a multitude of plants that wriggle and squeak so much he has trouble dealing with all of them at once. He flicks his wand frantically as he tries to get the plants to stop for a moment, but every time he manages to calm one, another takes over.

“Bloody Screechsnaps,” Neville says. “Always so sensitive to dragon dung compost. I should- Argh, sorry, Harry, I have to- Ouch!”

He falls on his bum, so I take out my wand to help him. It takes us a good ten minutes to bring peace and quiet back to the greenhouse.

“Thanks, mate,” Neville says. “Happy to see you.”

“’Welcome,” I say as I hand Neville the last pot. “So, what do you need me for?”

“Right, let’s start over here.” He shows me around, speaking animatedly, and it’s really easy to understand why he’s just perfect for this job.

There’s a sparkle in his eyes when he explains to me that after Professor Sprout retired last year, he decided to work with a wider variety of plants. He’s imported many samples from abroad and some of them need close attention. My job will be to assist him in taking care of these plants.

I start the next day. It takes me the entire first week to get used to the particularities of each species, but I quickly find my marks, and enjoy the time spent in the overheated greenhouses. I water the plants, feed them with dragon dung compost and talk to them (Neville insisted on this point; Magical plants are very sensitive to small talk).

I enjoy watching them grow and evolve, sometimes, from one day to another. I never know what I’m going to find when I arrive each day since some of the plants grow extremely quickly. One morning, when I opened the door, giant red flowers that had not been there the night before had overtaken Greenhouse Three and filled it with an overpowering fragrance that had made me instantly dizzy.

Neville and I usually have a quick lunch outside, on a huge rock that sits beside the entrance to Greenhouse Two, where we spend every afternoon. That’s the greenhouse Neville has turned into a lab, and where he grows plants for his various experiments; he works with St Mungo’s closely on medicinal plants, but also in collaboration with Blaise Zabini. Every week, he prepares trunks of plants to be delivered to various parts of the UK.

When we’re done, I usually head to Hagrid’s hut for tea.

All in all, it’s all much more fulfilling than I’d thought it would be, and I find myself really content with how things are turning out.

  **\- IX -**

The rest of the month passes with its lot of okay days, and not-so-okay days, but I manage to keep it together. It’s not always easy, but I’m determined not to let myself go. There are even moments, like tonight, when I am able to appreciate life as it is without second guessing myself.

“Looking for some peace and quiet, too?” I say as I sit next to Ginny on the front steps of the Burrow. Chatter and laughter escape from the open windows.

“Well, living with six brothers, you tend to look for it quite a lot.”

I smile. “I can imagine.”

She holds her glass up in the air. “Happy birthday, Harry.”

I hold mine up as well, and we clink glasses. “Thanks.” I take a sip of wine. “So… You’re on your own tonight?”

She grimaces. “Yeah. Chester and I broke up.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that. You want to talk about it?”

She shrugs. “There’s nothing much to say, you know. He wasn’t for me. Too nice.”

I chuckle. “Right. How are the Harpies doing then?”

“Not too bad.”

We spend the next few minutes talking about Ginny’s job, and I love seeing the stars in her eyes as she talks about practise, her teammates, and the stakes for the upcoming season.

“What about you?” she asks when she’s done. “How are you doing?”

I wince.

“That bad?”

“It’s- It’s okay.”

She nudges me with her shoulder. “Not with me. We were together for almost a year. I know you.”

“Right. It’s hard. It’s- Sometimes it feels as if someone’s just ripped my insides apart, you know?”

“I know,” she simply says, looking away.

I turn to look at her. “I’m sorry.”

She looks at me, a small smile on her lips. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago. It wasn’t meant to be. I’ve long accepted it.”

She lets out a little laugh.

“What?” I frown.

“I never told you how proud I was of you when you broke up with me.”

“Proud?”

I remember how it was, and pride isn’t the first thing on my mind when I think about the look on Ginny’s face in the painful moment when I broke her heart.

“Yes. Because it felt like it was the first time you listened to yourself and put your own needs before anyone else’s.”

“Oh.”

She nods. “And although it broke my heart, I was immensely proud of you for finally standing up for yourself. You deserved to be happy.”

“Well.” I shrug.

“But then, I guess after the war, there were too many things…” She shakes her head and sighs. “I mean it was hard for everybody, but I think it really hit you harder than anyone else. You’d given so much to others, given without ever expecting anything back from anybody, ignored your own desires and needs for so long that it was- all that happened to you… I’m glad you’re out of it.”

“Thanks.”

“So what are you going to do now?”

“I don’t want to be an Auror.”

She smiles. “I see you’ve made up your mind about that.”

“I have. It’s not for me. I hate having to follow stupid rules from conservative wankers because _it’s procedure_. Fuck procedure. If I’d complied with it when we were fighting Voldemort, we’d all be dead.”

“I know,” she says, absentmindedly running her fingers over her glass.

“I was angry after the war.”

“I think I noticed that,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“Yeah,” I smile. “It’s just that, I thought things would change, that it’d be different. I believed people would _get it_ , that they’d understand that in the end, it’s not just about them or me, as individuals, but it’s about everyone, and I mean absolutely everyone, no matter which side of the war they were on. I thought they’d finally understand that just one person couldn’t make all the change, that it was everybody’s duty.”

“You can’t blame people for believing in you.”

“I don’t. And I didn’t really back then. I just wished they’d taken their responsibilities.”

I kick the ground with the tip of my shoe, trying to dislodge a pebble from the earth. “When Voldemort died, many believed it was all over, that they could go back to their lives and that they were safe because someone had killed the bad guy. They saw me as some kind of reassuring protective figure. They turned me into the Saviour-of-the-Wizarding-World, this fantasy version of myself who was going to become an Auror, marry his best friend’s sister and have little saviour children - boys and girls because even there I couldn’t fail them - and be around to protect them forever.”

I finally manage to dislodge the pebble and kick it hard. It rolls away until it meets a small clump of grass. “But it’s all a lie. That’s not the way the world works. That kind of thinking is dangerous because it makes people lazy. It doesn’t encourage them to think for themselves. It's the kind of thinking that leads to Unspeakables and revenge-seeking Aurors feeling justified in deciding who deserves to live and who deserves to die. But it’s not. It’s everyone’s responsibility. And how are things supposed to work if every single time the wizarding world is in trouble, people turn to one person to solve it? I’m as dangerous as Voldemort in that regard.”

“There’s one difference between you and Voldemort, though.”

“Well, I hope there’s more than one.” I chuckle.

“Git.” She smiles and her face lights up. “I meant one _major_ difference.”

“What?”

“You didn’t want the Elder wand, and when you had it, you didn't keep it.”

I let the words sink in. “No. I didn’t.”

I look up at the stars above, so bright and numerous. “I think it’s important to acknowledge what’s been done and what can still be improved. I made the mistake of thinking, at one point, that things were supposed to change dramatically, while in reality, change comes from little things. It has to come from the people, even if the Ministry has a role to play.” I sip my wine, relishing the peacefulness of the warm summer night. “But it’s not enough. What really matters is enlightening the young witches and wizards, to teach them how to avoid another Voldemort at all cost.”

“Educate them.”

“Yes. I believe that’s how we’ll change things in the end. And that’s-” I take a deep breath. “That’s what frustrated me when I was in the Aurors.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know, we’d arrest Dark Wizards, we’d send them to Azkaban, but in the end, we didn’t really solve the problem. We’d just move it somewhere else. Dark Wizards need to be punished for what they did, but we also have to educate people better… And I think… I think I’d rather educate than punish.”

She leans back and folds her arms across her chest, scrutinising me. “You’d be a very good teacher.”

I wince. “I don’t know. I mean, I’ve never been academically brilliant like Hermione, you see?”

“Oh, Harry.” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. We all know people who were not really successful at school and yet became very good teachers. Knowledge isn’t everything when it comes to teaching.”

“Yeah, well.”

She scoffs. “And believe me, if Gilderoy Lockhart could be a teacher, then so can you.”

“True.” I chuckle. “I still have a hard time understanding why Dumbledore would hire someone like him.”

“Well, maybe he wanted to have a good laugh?” She chuckles. “Anyway. You were a very good teacher when you led the DA.” I make a face, remembering how unsure I’d felt preparing the first few lessons. “It’s true! You were. You were the best Defence teacher we ever had.”

“You’re forgetting Lupin.”

“True.” She smiles. “He was…”

“Yes,” I cut her off. “He was.”

“So educating rather than punishing, then?”

“Yes. It doesn’t mean I think the Aurors are useless, far from it. Aurors _are_ an undeniable part of the change. We need them, and we always will. But we need _smart_ Aurors, not power-thirsty angry witches and wizards.” I push my glasses up my nose.

“We need more Rons.”

I chuckle. “The world definitely needs more Rons. I’m so happy he’s finally found something that makes him happy.”

“Yes.”

I finish my wine in one gulp, letting it fill my mouth before swallowing it all at once. I turn to Ginny, taking in her round face, her soft features, and her sharp, bright eyes.

“I love you, you know?” I say. “You’re so important to me.”

She smiles. “I know. Same to you.”

She remains silent for a little while, staring into space. “I’ll never forget you. You were my first.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

She laughs. “I didn’t mean it like that, you perv! And besides, it wasn’t that bad!”

“Well, only because I was thinking about Ron’s gorgeous Auror partner while we were-”

“Shut up, you tosser!” she says, shoving me hard, her laugh clear in the cool summer night. “Were you, really?”

“Of course not. I loved you, you know that. I would never-”

“I know.”

She takes another sip of her wine as I grab a stick from the ground.

“I can’t believe Malfoy was the one to finally capture your heart.”

“Yeah, well,” I say, drawing patterns in the dirt with the stick. “Too bad he forgot to give it back.”

She snorts. “That’s the cheesiest line of all times.”

“Yours wasn’t bad either.”

“True. Anyway. I had no idea you had a thing for blond arrogant pure-blood prats.”

“Well, he’s much less of a prat these days.”

“I know. Even Ron seems to think so, and that means something.” She places her hand on my arm. “He’ll come back. At one point.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to think about it, honestly. I don’t want to spend my life waiting for him.”

“Oh Merlin, no. That’s not what I meant. But I think… I think the two of you make sense in a sort of weird fucked-up way. That you’re made to be together. After all, it’s always been about him.”

I take her wine away from her. “You’ve had too much of this, I think.” I finish it off.

“Hey! That was mine!” She slaps me on the knee.

Laughter escapes one of the open windows behind us. I let out a snicker.

“What?”

“He was so jealous of you. Draco, I mean.”

“Really?” she says, an air of utter disbelief on her face.

“Oh, yes, he was. Called you Ginevra.” She grimaces. “He hated it when I talked about you.”

“You talked about me? Oh, Harry.” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “You actually talked about your ex-girlfriend to your boyfriend? No wonder he walked away.”

“Yep. And now I’m talking about my ex-boyfriend to my ex-girlfriend. Fuck, my life is a mess.” I smile and then stand up, brushing the dust off my trousers. “We’d better go back inside before your mum starts a search party and gets the wrong idea.”

“Merlin, yes. We wouldn’t want that!”

**\- X -**

I exit the Burrow surrounded by my friends, who are oddly silent. It makes me both nervous and suspicious.

“What?” I ask them as we walk to the Apparition point

Hermione casts a sideways glance at Ron, who looks at Ginny, who rolls her eyes. “We’ve organised something. For your birthday, and we…”

I frown. “You’ve organised something? But I told you-”

Ginny walks to me. “Yeah, I know you told us you didn’t want to do anything but-”

“But we’re fed up that you never leave that rotten house of yours, and we thought it was high time we did something about it,” Hermione says, standing by Ginny’s side.

“Yeah, high time.” Ron closes the circle around me.

“But-”

“No buts, mate. We’re taking you out.”

“Out?”

“To the Leaky Cauldron.”

“The Leaky Cauldron?”

“And I’m a total wanker,” Ginny says very seriously.

“Excuse me, what?” I frown.

“Oh, I thought it was a new game of ‘I repeat every single word my friends say,’” she says with a chuckle.

“But I can’t-” I look at them in disbelief. “I can’t- No. There’s no…”

“You’re going,” Hermione steps in.

“Now,” Ginny says, hooking her arm with mine.

“Sorry, mate,” are the last words I hear before I feel the familiar pull of Apparition twisting my insides.

We Apparate into the middle of Diagon Alley, and for a couple of seconds, panic and dread seem to fight their way inside my brain. I don’t have time to think too much about it when Ginny and Hermione each take one of my arms and walk me towards the Leaky.

“Hey, I can walk on my own,” I mutter and they let go of me, but keep close.

It’s already pretty late, and thankfully, there are not that many people outside. It’s been a while since I was here. The last time was ages ago when I'd had to Apparate away as a group of hysterical fans had chased me around the pub after I’d, once again, made the headlines. Since then, I'd told myself it wasn’t worth it anymore.

But today, even if I can feel people’s insistent glances and catch some whispered words as I walk by, it’s nothing like it was before. And, in the end, I find the walk pretty pleasant.

When I push open the door to the Leaky, it takes me a couple of seconds to get over the shock; the place looks nothing like the dark and shabby inn it was the last time I checked. The atmosphere is very different; Enchanted Candles float towards the ceiling, bringing the place a brighter and warmer look amplified by the new layout and furniture that, for some reason, remind me a little of the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

It’s only when I see Hannah Abbott behind the bar that I remember she’s the one behind all these changes.

“Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry!” she says, rounding the bar counter and pulling me into a warm embrace. “And, happy birthday!” she adds as she releases me. “So, do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s- It’s very different; it’s- It’s brilliant. You did all this?”

She nods. “I got a little bit of help, though.” And right on cue, Neville comes up behind her and places his hand at the small of her back.

“Happy birthday, mate,” he says, beaming.

Neville talks about Hannah a lot when we’re in the greenhouses. He told me the story of how they got together after they bumped into each other several months ago, and ended up becoming more than friends. It’s the first time I've actually seen them together though.

“Your friends are already here,” Hannah says, and for a fraction of a second, my heart jumps in my chest at the thought that maybe, maybe…

But when I turn to the boot in the opposite corner of the pub, it's only Blaise and Anna. I’m very happy to see them, though since it’s been a while. In fact, the last time I saw them was-

“Harry!” Anna takes me in a tight hug. “You look good!”

“Thank you. You look good too.”

“Hey, no hitting on my girlfriend,” Blaise says, curling a protective arm around Anna’s waist. I can’t help chuckling at the look on his face. God, I’ve missed them so much.

We all squeeze into the leather booths on either side of the heavy table, and the night passes incredibly fast as Hannah brings drink, after drink, after drink, and after a while, it feels like we’ve all toasted my birthday enough times to last me the next ten years.

At one point, I feel the need to pull back a little. I look at all these people, my old, faithful friends, as well as the more recent, unexpected ones, and a smile slowly grows on my face.

  **\- DRACO -**

He looks happy.

That’s the first thing that strikes me when I see him again for the first time in weeks.

Here he is, surrounded by his friends, laughing and drinking and talking, and my heart clenches at the sight.

I am high on the sound of his laughter, and I can’t take my eyes off him.

I wasn’t supposed to come tonight, of course. What if he saw me? That would ruin the whole purpose of leaving. And it would hurt him; I know it would. And that’s the last thing I want to do. I’ve already hurt him enough.

But somehow, I just couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t help listening in when Anna told Blaise they were meeting him here tonight; the temptation was too strong. I followed them.

It’s not the first time I’ve been tempted to come back. In fact, the moment I stepped into Blaise’s house that first day, I wanted nothing more than just go back to Harry - where I know deep inside that I belong. But then, Blaise was there, and the reasons I’d left in the first place all came back at once.

****

And now, here I am, lurking in the dark on this warm, summer night, drinking in the sight of him, wanting nothing more than to open the pub door and lunge at him, to find refuge in his arms like I have so many times, to have him hold me tight, whispering comforting words, and drown in the illusion that things could be as they were before.

But then I remember why I left. I remember why I made the hardest decision ever.

I take a last look at him as he talks animatedly to Hermione, his face as expressive as ever, his hands moving excitedly in front of him before I turn around and walk away without looking back.

  _ **Eleven**_

_**** _

**\- HARRY -**

**\- I -**

_August 2003_  
I rapidly get the hang of the job in the greenhouses. I’m at Hogwarts three days a week, and generally arrive very early in the morning, rising with the sun, taking a quick shower and a light breakfast before I grab my broom, cast a Disillusionment Charm on myself, and head for the Apparition point at the corner of the street. A couple of Apparitions later, I find myself in Hogsmeade, where I mount my broom again and head for Hogwarts.

Neville usually arrives a couple of hours later, and I take a break while he explains his plans for the week. He shares his time between planning his future lessons and researching in Greenhouse Two.

That's where he is today, hunched over a dozen samples of plants that look like bits of Asphodel. He flicks his wand over the one displayed on the left of the workstation and it rises in the air in front of him. Neville, then makes a circle with his wand, and the plant twists in on itself. He holds a flask under the plant with his free hand and draws a complicated pattern with his wand, swishing it a few times. The plant wrings itself out, and a dark, thick liquid slowly drips into the flask.

The plant has shrunk spectacularly when Neville finally lets go of it.

“Impressive,” I say, and he looks up at me, smiling.

“Thanks.”

“What is it for?” I ask, indicating the whole greenhouse. And then I realise that even though I’ve been here for a couple of weeks already, we’ve never found the time to talk about his research. “What is it about? Your research?”

He takes his time to answer me, positioning the samples on the board carefully, before turning to me again.

“It’s a bit stupid.” And there’s a faint blush on his cheeks.

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“I-” He sighs. “There’s this thing we’ve been talking about, Anna and I, about her… research. What she did with Malfoy about his memory.” My heart jumps at the mention of Draco. “I- I’m trying to see if I could somehow create a potion that would…” He bites his lips. “Never mind. It’s boring stuff anyway.”

“No!” I draw closer to him, placing my hand on his arm. “I’m sure it’s very interesting, Neville.”

“It’s just- Hermione had this idea that we could… That somehow we could try and brew a potion for patients to drink before a Pensieve session that’d improve the results of the spell she created. But I don’t- I mean, I don’t know if it’s-”

“It’s brilliant!”

“Well, I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I mean, Blaise is going to work on it too, so I’m trying to see if we can use the properties of the Asphodel to… I don’t know if it’ll work, but if it does, it might be another step in the right direction to heal of all those patients with damaged brains and memories.”

Neville hastily returns to his work as I stand there, staring at his back.

Of course.

Of fucking course. Now I understand why he spends all his free time here. It’s not only his love of plants and Herbology. It's much more personal. Because if they managed to-

“How are they?” I ask, the words coming out softer than I thought they would.

He turns to look at me again, his eyes slightly narrowed. “They’re…” He lifts his hands in the air and drops them at his sides again. “They’re just the same. They don’t- They still don’t recognise me, it’s… Nothing’s changed.”

“Well, I hope you’ll find something.”

Neville’s words don’t leave me all day, and I still think about his parents, about the terrible fate they met in the hands of Bellatrix when I go back home.

I head upstairs without thinking much and find myself in my bedroom, the former drawing-room and use my wand to move the heavy wardrobe that still partly hides the Black family tapestry.

I walk closer to it and run a finger over Draco’s name in golden letters. I close my eyes, letting the bumps of each letter forming his name soothe me somehow.

My eyes open again and I trace the thread linking him to his mother, and moving to her left, finally find what I came here for.

I stare at her name for a while, the hated name, the name of the witch who’s destroyed so many lives, including in her own family.

I place the tip of my wand on her face and press hard on it. Right this instant, I’m very tempted to cast an _Incendio_ and watch her face slowly distort and turn as black as Sirius’s on the very same wall.

But then I pull back and leave the room, slamming the door behind me.

**\- II -**

I wake up in the morning feeling amazing. It takes me a while to understand what’s changed, but as I grab my clothes from the wardrobe, I get it.

It’s the first time in weeks that I haven’t had a dream, be it a good one or a bad one.

I step out of the bathroom and my eyes fall on the door to Draco’s room. He left over a month ago, and somehow, I’ve never found it in me to go back in there.

It’s time for a change.

I don’t exactly know what I expected, but when I open the door, everything’s exactly as it was when Draco was still around, and even though I knew it would be, it’s no less of a shock.

The bed is made, and I’m amazed at Draco’s capacity for tidying things up even as he was on the go. He’s even removed the pile of clothes on my old school trunk.

And then, my heart clenches as I take a look at the nightstands. On top of mine, on the left side of the bed, lay half a dozen magazines covered in dust, a dirty handkerchief and a half-full glass of water.

A lamp is the only item on Draco’s otherwise empty nightstand. Next to it is the also empty chair where he used to put his clothes, neatly folded in one perfect stack, his shoes underneath.

I walk closer to the bed and feel the carpet under my bare feet. The very same carpet on which Draco and I have made love so many times. I close my eyes for a brief moment as a thrill courses through me.

I sit on the bed and reach for the pillow. _His_ pillow. I run my palm over it, caressing it before grabbing it and pressing it flush against my face. I inhale deeply and there it is. His scent. Even though it’s faded quite a lot, it’s still very present and I’m almost dizzy with it. I breathe him in several times before putting the pillow back on the bed.

Then I head for the bathroom and remember every single shower we shared, every single bath.

The first time I managed to get Draco in the bathtub.

The time he realised he had a Mark on his arm and asked me about it.

Every single time we made love in here, the water cascading over our backs, barely covering our moans of pleasure.

I go back to the bedroom and open the windows wide with a flick of my wand. Then I proceed to remove all the sheets from the bed and send them to the hamper. Finally, I put some new, fresh ones on the bed.

I take a look at my work when I’m done. The bed is probably not as neatly made as Draco would have done it, but at least, it’s clean.

I get out of the room, leaving the door open behind me.

What’s done is done.

He’s gone and he’s not coming back.

It’s high time I moved on.

  **\- III -**

“Very happy to see you, Potter,” McGonagall says in greeting as I step into her office.

“Happy to see you too, Professor.”

“Tea?” she asks.

I nod. “Please.”

“Milk? Sugar?”

“Milk please. No sugar.”

McGonagall flicks her wand over the cups that fill themselves before she pours milk into mine and hands it in to me.

“So, how is work in the greenhouses?” she asks, unsmiling, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

“Great! I’m happy to be able to help Neville.”

She nods. “Why are you here, Potter?” she asks before taking a sip of her tea.

I take a deep breath. “I came to accept your offer. If it still stands.”

“Oh,” she says as her cup clinks against the saucer. “I see.”

And that’s when it dawns on me. I feel my hands dampen as I put the teacup down on the desk and rub them on my trousers.

“You already have someone.” God, I hate the tone of disappointment in my voice.

“Well, the students start school again in a fortnight,” she says, locking eyes with me.

Of course. I curse myself. I’ve done a lot of thinking over the last few days, about what I would teach when, how I would teach, what my priorities should be, and so on. But I never considered the fact that McGonagall may have already found someone else for the job.

“Sorry I made you waste your time,” I say, standing up at once.

“Sit down, Potter.”

I turn to her.

“Please.”

I sit.

“I haven’t found anyone. Not per se. I have… Everybody I have contacted so far is unavailable or does not want the job. I had to teach Defence myself all year last year, and Merlin knows it isn’t my favourite subject.” She looks up at the ceiling, and for the first time since I’d arrived, I catch a glimpse of Dumbledore in his frame. I frown at the smirk on his lips. He looks- “So, if you want the post, it is all yours, Potter.”

I turn back to McGonagall. “I do. I want it.”

“Good. Welcome on board, then.” She extends her hand and I shake it.

That’s it then. I’m a teacher. At Hogwarts.

Merlin.

  **\- IV -**

The next few days pass in a haze. Teachers start taking possession of Hogwarts and there is excitement in the air as the first of September looms closer, the castle gradually coming back to life. Neville and I spend our mornings helping Hagrid tend to the grounds, cutting the grass, decluttering the Great Lake’s surroundings, and relocating the tiny creatures that had taken their summer quarters all over the grounds, to safer, student-free locations.

I spend most of my free time flying and working on my lesson plans, so much, I’m afraid I’ll turn into Hermione at one point. I even spend time in the library, retrieving lesson plans from previous Defence teachers and studying them carefully.

It’s odd to read Quirrell’s notes, knowing Voldemort had possessed him at the time. I can’t help but laugh out loud at Lockhart’s empty folder, but for a couple of notes reminding him to ‘tell the students how I brought down five angry Norwegian Ridgebacks with my hands tied behind my back.’ I feel a pinch in my heart when I read Lupin’s neat handwriting, and I’m not surprised to find everything he wrote truly helpful. I spend a whole day reading his carefully organised notes. Mad Eye’s folder doesn’t hold much - he was, after all, interrupted in his task very early in the year - but what little he wrote is still very practical. And then there are Snape’s notes, and I can’t help thinking about the Half-Blood Prince’s Potions book that was my companion during sixth year. Reading Snape is like listening to him. I can almost hear him taunting me for my pending failure, hissing over my shoulder, ‘You’ll never get anywhere, Potter.’ There’s not a single trace of the Carrows’ time at Hogwarts, though, and I think that's for the best.

Neville’s input is also very important, and he helps me stay on the right track. It’s comforting to have him around, and know I won’t be alone at the grown-ups table when September first arrives. There will be a lot of familiar faces around me, including Hagrid’s. I can’t help feeling slightly nervous though, but as the days pass, I’m more excited about the whole thing than I’ve been about anything in years.

I visit McGonagall often too, sharing my plans for the Defence course with her, but also the way I want the students to reflect on their actions, to fully understand the consequences of a spell or a curse. She doesn’t speak much, but the few words she pronounces are usually enough to spur me on, and make me think some more. I talk with Ron a lot as well, and that’s much more of a surprise, but it’s good to have the opinion of an Auror still in the field. Things change so fast! I’m even wondering if I shouldn’t ask him to assist me with some of the lessons for the seventh years. But that’s not for right now anyway.

All in all, things are going great.

There are still days that are complicated, though. It’s not bright and sunny all the time.

Like today. I awake to the sound of the rain on my windows and a painful desire to stay in bed. It’s a good thing I have to go to Hogwarts because otherwise, I’m not sure I would have left the house at all.

I force myself to get up and take a long, hot shower that has my skin turning pink in only a few minutes. I scrub myself rather harshly, and I can almost hear Draco scold me about it.

“You do know the purpose of washing isn’t to tear one’s skin off, do you?”

“Yes, Mother.” He narrows his eyes and bites his bottom lip. “Want to show me how it’s properly done, then?” I say, fluttering my eyelashes.

“Obviously.”

He grabs the Hair Potion and applies a small amount to his hand. He then rubs his hands together, and I can see his lips moving as he focuses on the motion.

“Turn around,” he says in a tone that suffers no objection. I’m very tempted to laugh, but refrain from doing so. He’s too serious right now to appreciate it, so I just shut up and let him do what he wants with my body. I won’t complain.

He gently works the potion down to my scalp, his fingertips digging against my skull as he runs them in gentle circles, and bloody hell this is good. Amazing, even. I close my eyes.

I open them again when I feel warm water above me and he rinses my hair carefully. It’s an odd feeling; I’ve never had anyone wash my hair before. My mum probably did it, but I don’t remember. Draco is unsurprisingly very methodical, taking his time to remove every single bit of potion residue.

“Right, I’m going to wash your body now, don’t move.”

He grabs the soap and turns it in his hands. Three times clockwise, three times anti-clockwise. Once his hands are soapy enough to his taste, he grabs my shoulders and spins me around, so that I face the tiles. “I’ll show you how it’s properly done.”

I bite back a retort; it seems important to him.

He starts at my neck and shoulders and applies soap there, running his hands in a few, precise movements, drawing circles on my shoulder blades and then going all the way down my back, stopping before reaching my arse. He turns me around once more, so that I’m now facing him.

He takes the soap again and starts the whole turning the soap in his hand thing again before running his hands over my chest. His face is very serious as he cleans every inch of skin there, rubbing my nipples until they stand to attention, eliciting a small smile on his face. As his hands go lower I can sense my nipples are not the only parts of me requesting attention.

Draco stops short of the patch of hair under my belly and moves his hands up, leaving my body one moment to grab my hands and have me lift my arms so that he has easier access to my armpits.

Thankfully, I’m not a ticklish person. His touch is very matter-of-fact, but it affects me anyway. My whole body heats up as he washes me and I reach for him.

He slaps my hand away. “Not now, Potter.”

I pout - to no avail since Draco doesn’t even look at me. Instead, he rinses his hands under the still running water and applies more soap.

He grabs my arse cheeks in his hands and I let out a whimper as he draws circles on them. I gasp when he spreads them and starts cleaning my arsehole, rubbing his fingers up and down my cleft. I’m definitely hard now, and throw my head back in a low moan, closing my eyes.

I snap my eyes open when he slaps me on my arse.

“Ouch, you brute!” I say. “Was that really necessary?”

“I’m washing you, Potter, of course it is. Cleaning is a very serious matter, you know.”

“I don’t care about cleaning,” I say seductively, bringing him closer to me. “I’d rather get all dirty.”

He narrows his eyes, bringing his face closer to mine, so close we could kiss. He licks his lips. “Not before I’m done.”

I open my mouth to protest but the words get stuck in my throat when I feel his soapy hand around my achingly hard cock.

“Oh!” I cry out as he moves his slick hand up and down painfully slowly. “I- God, Draco!”

“Yes,” he says against my cheek. “See? This is the way it’s done. Now you have to be particularly careful with the glans, and make sure you clean it properly,” he adds, his breath ragged, as he rubs his thumb at the base, circling it before taking it wholly in his hand and going down the shaft once again. He then takes my balls in his hands and cleans them thoroughly, massaging them as he reaches underneath, and I swear I will come if he doesn’t stop right now.

“All done,” he says, removing his hand at once, making my legs tremble with need.

He gets on his knees and I thrust my hips forward to try and get him to touch me again, but he completely neglects my dick to wash my hips, thighs and calves. I’m on the brink of agony when he finally washes my feet and slowly stands up again.

I grab his hips and bring him closer to me, but he doesn’t let me, instead pinning me to the cold tiled wall.

“Not yet. I still have to rinse you.”

Thankfully the rinsing part is pretty short, and this time, when he’s finally done and I crush my mouth on his, rubbing forcefully against him, he doesn’t protest and lets me have my way with him.

It doesn’t take much - a few touches here and there, his mouth around me, finally! - and I come hard down his throat.

Of course, my showers are much shorter these days.

I get out of the shower in a slightly improved mood, and am tempted not to take the _Daily Prophet_ waiting for me on my bed. In the end, I grab it as I close the window and head downstairs.

It’s only when my tea is ready that I unfold the newspaper and start skimming through it. The headline today is something about Potions regulations, and I think about Blaise, wondering if it’ll affect his business at all.

I nearly spit my tea all over the paper when I stumble upon a small insert at the bottom of the front page.

MALFOY HEIR SPOTTED IN DIAGON ALLEY

My heart misses a beat, and then starts racing furiously as I look at the picture of Draco in brand new robes, strutting along Diagon Alley with Blaise.

I rake his face, trying to discern something, anything, a familiar expression, but his features are strangely hard and his face is shut. His eyes, slightly narrowed, move frantically from left to right, as if he expected anything or anyone to hex him any moment. His hair is shorter than when I last saw him, and he looks surprisingly both younger and more mature.

I take a deep breath and start reading.

 _Draco Malfoy, son of the late Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy née Black, was spotted in Diagon Alley today, with his old school friend Blaise Zabini, now a Potions consultant._  
  
 _The two were seen perusing the street on Saturday, and have been spotted shopping for robes._  
  
 _It’s been a while since the wizarding world has heard of the infamous Death Eater-_ “former Death Eater,” I mutter, _and although it is unclear what exactly has become of Draco Malfoy after his sentence in Azkaban, our sources claim that Malfoy could very well attend the upcoming trial of Unspeakable Terrence Burbage and his accomplices, already nicknamed ‘The Azkaban Scandal trial.’ Mr Malfoy is indeed among the victims of the abuse that took place in the infamous prison._  
 _The stakes are high for the Malfoy heir, since his family’s assets are in the balance - all of the Death Eaters’ possessions have been held by the Ministry since the end of the war - including a magnificent property in Wiltshire._  
 _Mr Malfoy refused to comment on any of the current affairs._  
  
I put the paper down and close my eyes for a couple of seconds. Well, at least he’s all right, I think. And that's all that matters in the end.

I leave the paper on the kitchen counter, grab my broom, and head for Hogwarts.

  **\- V -**

The weather changes dramatically over the next few days, turning much colder and damper, even though we’re still in August. Every time I go through the door of the Leaky though, I am hit by the same warmth that had caused my breath to catch in my throat on my birthday.

I nod at the few regulars I pass as I walk to the bar counter. It still amazes me to realise that people are nothing but respectful, if only a little overenthusiastic at times.

“Hi, Harry!” says Hannah. “Waiting for Ron?”

I smile. “Not today, no. I’m having lunch with Anna.”

“Good. Butterbeer?”

“Please.”

She Summons a bottle and opens it for me. She then lifts her wand and the bottle rises up in the air before tilting towards the glass, allowing the thick liquid to pour directly into it.

I head for my usual booth and let the cosy warmth of the Leaky slowly envelope me as I sip my Butterbeer and observe the world around me, the life unfolding in front of my very eyes. It’s incredible to think that only a few months ago, leaving the house was a chore.

I love spending time here. It’s become my favourite place to hang out and have a good time with friends over the last few weeks. Hannah is always very protective of my private life, and doesn’t hesitate to throw out undesirable reporters hoping to get juicy details about the Saviour’s life.

I’ve made my peace with them, though. They can say whatever they want, it doesn’t really matter to me anymore. I’ll never stop them from writing what they want… Although I can’t help noticing that ever since I’ve been back in the thick of things, the articles about me seem slightly nicer… almost benevolent.

I wish they’d do the same thing with Draco, who keeps popping up on the front page every single time he puts a toe on Diagon Alley. With the upcoming trial, the journalists are on the look-out.

It seems extraordinary that I’ve never bumped into him myself after all these weeks. The wizarding world is not that big, and since I go out more often these days, it’s still a very strong possibility. I think about it every time I go out. What if I ran into him while I'm looking at the brand new broomsticks in Quidditch Quality Supplies, or whenever Ron, Hermione and I are having ice-creams in Florean Fortescue’s? Or even here, at the Leaky. What would happen then? Would we just say ‘hi,’ or would we pretend we didn’t notice each other? Would we fall into each other’s arms like long lost lovers?

For now, there’s no real way to know. It hasn't happened. But it’s still a possibility, and I can’t deny I keep my eyes open for it every time I go out.

I even fantasise about it. About seeing him again. And then I smack some sense into myself and occupy my mind with something else, or at least I try to.

“Hi!” Anna says as she slips into the booth. “Sorry, I’m late.”

“Hey, that’s fine. It’s my day off. No need to rush.”

“Good.” She smiles, taking her hat off and straightening her hair.

“I’ll go and get you lunch. What do you want?”

Anna turns around to look at the slate hanging above the bar with the day’s specials.

“Pea soup would be perfect. Oh, and tea too, thanks.”

“You got it.”

I go to the bar and order Anna’s pea soup and tea, as well as steak and kidney pie for me.

“So, how are things at St Mungo’s these days?” I ask a few moments later, after I come back with Anna’s tea in a large red mug and a plate of biscuits.

“Busy, very busy,” she says with a smile. “You know how we had to create a ward directly inside Azkaban after what happened back in April?”

I nod. As soon as Burbage and the others had been removed from Azkaban, Kingsley had opened several investigations and created a special unit to find out exactly what had gone on when Burbage had been in charge of it. The very first decision he made was to dispatch a group of Aurors and Healers to create an infirmary directly on site, and have all the prisoners examined and treated there. The investigations have revealed that many prisoners and former prisoners had indeed been victims of the spell Burbage, and the now ex-Aurors, cast on them repeatedly, and Kingsley has asked for reparations. It probably won’t work out for everyone, but it’s worth trying.

“Well, now that things are settling down a little, my superior asked me to take the work we did with the Pensieve a little bit further to see if we could come up with something that could be used on a larger scale.”

“You mean-”

“Well, the idea would be to generalise the use of the Pensieve for the prisoners who have been affected by the same spell Draco was.”

“Sounds good.”

She smiles. “Yes. I’m very excited about it, although I must admit I miss my patients a little.”

“How long are you supposed to work on this?”

“A couple of months tops.” She places her hands around her mug, blowing gently on it.

“This is very exciting. I’m glad to see things are changing, and that people like you get more responsibilities. Makes me pretty hopeful for the future.” I smile.

“And what about you, Harry? How are you? How’s Hogwarts?”

“Good. It’s great to be back there.”

“And you like the job?”

“What, in the greenhouses?”

She nods.

“Yes, it’s good. Taking care of plants is oddly soothing, and Neville’s a pleasure to work with.”

“I’m glad to see you staying busy,” she says, sipping her tea.

“And it’s not about to stop.” I pick a biscuit from the plate between us and take a bite. “I’ve accepted McGonagall’s offer.”

Her eyes widen and a huge smile grows on her face. “Really? Congratulations, Harry! That's fantastic!”

“Thanks.”

“God, I’m so happy for you; that’s great news! Please, tell me all about it!”

And I do. I spend the next few minutes telling her all about my lesson plans, practising spells at home, and researching at the library. I only stop when Hannah brings us our food.

“I think you’re going to be an amazing teacher, Harry. I’m so happy you’ve decided to take this very important step,” Anna says, before bringing a spoonful of greenish soup to her lips.

“Thank you. I’m very happy too.”

The pie is delicious. I’ve always had a thing for steak and kidney pie. Probably because every time the Dursleys would have some, I was left only the crusts. At least now I get to enjoy the meat and gravy that comes with it.

“There’s something…” Anna starts as I bring another forkful of pie to my lips. “Something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

I let my hand holding the pie hang in the air. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“All right. I want to celebrate my birthday. Nothing fancy, just, you know, have a few drinks here with friends.”

“Sounds great,” I smile, bringing the fork to my lips and chewing on the meat.

“You’re invited, of course.”

“Thank you.” I take a sip of my Butterbeer to wash the pie down. Anna remains silent, staring at me with an odd look on her face.

“I’d like to invite Draco, too.”

I nearly spit my Butterbeer all over the table, but somehow manage to swallow it. It feels like I’ve just been slapped hard across the face.

“I mean…” She adds. “I won’t do it if you-”

“No.” I clear my throat, forcing a smile. “I mean, God, no, please don’t change your plans for me, it wouldn’t be fair.”

She bites her bottom lip. “You sure you’re going to be okay with it?”

“I’ll be fine. It has to happen at some point anyway, and I’m rather glad it will when we’re all together, to be honest. And it’s not as if there are hard feelings between Draco and me, because there aren’t.”

“Right.”

“When is it, then?”

“Next Saturday.”

“I’ll be there.”

She smiles. “I’m glad.”

I have a hard time finishing my plate and focusing on the rest of the conversation. I mostly let Anna do the talking, smiling in all the right places as my mind flies to Draco over and over again.

I’m going to see him again.

My sleep is rather agitated that night, my dreams filled with him. It’s going to be a long wait until Saturday.

  **\- VI -**

I work extra hard the rest of the week. I bury myself in work, and manage to keep my mind off Draco most of the time during the day. The nights are harder going, but all in all, it’s not too bad, and I manage to make it to Saturday without thinking about him more than a few hundred times a day.

I spend a ridiculous amount of time in front of the full-length mirror in the other room, but it’s difficult to find something that will look casual without looking like I’ve tried too hard.

In the end, I scold myself for caring that much about the way I look, and opt for my most comfortable pair of jeans and a dark red tee-shirt.

I have a hard time preventing my hands from trembling too much as I walk to the Apparition point. My heart is beating too fast and I have to take deep breaths before I can Apparate if I want to avoid being Splinched.

I should’ve asked Ron and Hermione to come with me, I think as I Apparate into the middle of Diagon Alley. But then I shake my head. What am I? Ten years old? If I was able to walk into the Forbidden Forest to meet my own death, I certainly can go to the Leaky and see Draco again.

I push open the door to the pub, and my heart races again in my chest as I scan the room. It’s packed tonight, but then, it’s Saturday. Hermione waves at me from our usual booth. Ron’s sitting next to her, Neville across the table from him with Anna next to him.

I let out a deep breath as I close the door.

He’s not arrived yet.

I say hello to Hannah and join my friends, taking a seat next to Hermione. I try to take part in the conversations, but can’t help my eyes from moving to the door every five or ten seconds.

I jump every time I hear the tiny bell ring when the door opens, and disappointment washes over me every time it’s not him. Bloody hell, I really need to get a grip on myself.

I try to focus on Ron babbling happily about his latest exploit, and I feel Hermione’s hand on my arm. I look at her and she smiles at me softly.

“You’re going to be all right,” she says in a low voice.

“I-” I freeze when the door opens again and the bell twinkles and this time- Fuck, it’s them. Blaise enters first, followed by a head of white-blond hair that I’d recognise anywhere. I swear my heart stops for a moment as something hurts in my legs and glasses clink, and I realise I’m standing up, staring at him across the room.

He’s stopped in his tracks too, his hand still on the handle as he’s looking back at me, his gaze intense. I feel a jolt like an electric shock running through my body as I hold his stare, my fists clenched at my sides, preventing myself from running to him and grabbing him because, God, it’s been way too long.

After what seems like an eternity but must have only lasted seconds, Draco lets go of the handle and lifts his chin, schooling his features into a more neutral expression.

I briefly close my eyes and sit back down as they arrive at the booth.

“Evening, everyone!” Blaise says in his usual overenthusiastic way, bending over to place a kiss on Anna’s lips. “Happy birthday, darling,” he says as Draco remains standing stiffly besides him, his hands hanging at his sides.

Blaise grabs a chair and sits at the end of the table, leaving Draco only one option: sitting next to Anna, right across from me.

He removes his cloak gracefully and folds it, placing it carefully next to him on the seat. My eyes rake his slender frame, my mouth dry as I take in the view. I hastily look away as he greets everyone.

“Good evening, Harry.”

I swallow hard and nod. “Draco.”

He rests his hands on the table and his shirt sleeves - pristine as always - go up a little and I can see a little bit of his wrists, displaying pale blond hair. I lick my lips and jump when Blaise leans forward and says in my ear, “Stop that, Potter, you’re drooling.”

“I-”

“Here, have another drink,” he says as he pours more Firewhisky in my glass. “Here’s to the most wonderful lady in the world!” He raises his glass. “Happy birthday, darling.”

“Happy birthday!” Everyone cheers and clinks glasses.

Soon the conversation flows, and Hermione does all she can to keep my attention away from Draco across the table. It doesn’t completely work, though as I keep casting fleeting glances to him when he's not looking, buried deep in conversation with Anna and Blaise. I know I probably look desperate, but I can’t help it; I’m attracted to him like a nail to a giant magnet.

Ron wraps his arm around Hermione and takes her in a warm embrace, asking her about something and I’m left without anyone to talk to.

“Next round’s on me,” I announce to the table, if only to find something to do, and everyone cheers as I head for the bar, shouldering my way through the particularly dense crowd.

I finally make it to the counter and let out a breath of relief. Hannah’s at the other end, taking orders for what looks like a rather large group of loud wizards, so it might be a while before she notices me, but that’s okay. At least I don’t have to be next to him and can breathe normally again.

I listen distractedly to the conversation between the two witches perched on stools next to me when I hear Draco’s voice.

“I thought you might like some company,” he says as he manages to get between my neighbours and myself.

“I- Er.” I look up at him, his beautiful, perfect hair falling over his eyes, his expression somewhat expectant, as my eyes roam over his nose, down to his gorgeous full lips that I used to kiss and lick and bite so many times. I feel my face redden. “Thanks.”

His mouth curls up in a small smile. “So, how are you these days?” And his voice is so very soft, so gentle, it sends shivers down my spine. I thrust my hands in my pockets to stop myself from reaching for him.

“I’m- Good. I’m really, er, good, I guess. You?”

He smiles again and I feel a sheen of sweat break out on my neck. “Fine. I-”

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” Hannah asks behind me and I suddenly remember where I am and what I’m supposed to do.

“I, er, we…”

“We would like seven glasses of Ogden’s, please,” Draco says behind me.

That’s it. I’ve made a complete idiot of myself.

 _“Accio Ogden’s!”_ Hannah says, and the bottle flies into her hand. She places seven glasses on the counter and pours the Firewhisky in them for what seems like hours. I am still very aware of Draco’s presence next to me, even more so when someone shoves him against me and his body touches mine for a couple of seconds before he pulls back.

“Here,” Hannah says when she’s finally done. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s fine, thanks.”

We levitate the glasses and bring them to the table, where Blaise greets us as if he hasn’t seen us in years.

“Hey, mate, did you see George’s new line of ‘Back to School’ products?” Ron says as soon as I sit, talking to me from behind Hermione’s back. “He’s got a whole range of-” He pauses, frowning. “Oh, you’re probably not the one I should talk to about that, now that you’re all grown up, and a teacher and…”

I lean forward a little, getting closer to him. “On the contrary, I could give George great inside info,” I say with a smirk and he laughs loudly.

“So how’s he doing these days?” I ask, and Ron tells me all about George’s business, and I try, I try really hard to remain focused on what he says, but I can’t help stealing glances at Draco on the other side of the table again. He’s now deep in conversation with Neville and Anna, and I take in his elegant profile, the curve of his brows, the shape of his-

“Mate?”

“Er, yes, sorry, what?”

Ron frowns a little before he starts speaking again. It’s not that what Ron is telling me is not interesting per se, it’s more that my eyes seem to have a life of their own.

I can’t help looking at him. I try, but every single time I catch myself staring.

I’m not the only one, though; I feel his eyes on me, too, and a few times, I can tell he’s just diverted his gaze when I look at him.

After Ron, it’s Neville’s turn to try and get my attention. We talk a little about his research with Anna, but just like with Ron, my mind is a hundred percent focused on something else. I’ve never been more aware of someone’s presence in a room and it’s a lot of work to try and listen to what people are telling me all the while avoiding bumping into his legs under the table.

Draco and I never seem to be able to talk to each other all night. Every time a conversation ends with someone, another person takes over.

The evening is rather pleasant, though, and I love being surrounded by my friends. And him.

The night passes in a blur, though I've barely exchanged two sentences with Draco all night. We head outside and everybody says goodbye.

Draco comes closer to me, taking my elbow in his hand and guiding me a little bit further away from the others, making my pulse race furiously under my skin, and then it’s just the two of us, finally.

“I was very happy to see you again tonight,” he says in a soft, low voice that sends a wave of heat rising up my neck.

The words wash around me and my lips curl up in a grin. “I was very happy too.”

He smiles. “We couldn’t really… talk properly, though. I mean, I know perfectly well what you said when we… when I … when I left, but I thought that now some time has passed… I thought maybe we could…” He blinks and bites his bottom lip as I will my heart to stop pounding in my chest. “See each other again? Just the two of us?”

I cast a glance at the others, thankfully lost in conversation a few feet away. “I don’t know. Have you found yourself yet?” I say very seriously, and he laughs, throwing his head back a little and displaying the pale skin of his throat in the most appealing way.

That’s a sound I’ve missed dearly.

He shakes his head. “God, you’re something else,” he says, pulling back a little.

“Well, you know me.” I shrug.

“So, what do you say, then?”

I take another look at our friends laughing under the streetlamp before I turn back to him. His face is expectant. We tread on dangerous grounds here, and we both know it, but I won’t lie to myself; I’ve dreamed many times about seeing him again, and no matter what I said the day he left, I certainly won’t let this opportunity go.

“The Leaky, next Friday, 7pm.”

He smiles. “Very well. I’ll be there.”

“Good. See you then.”

“My pleasure, Potter.”

**\- VII -**

Sunday drags on endlessly, and although I tried to busy myself, there’s only so much laundry and cleaning a person can do in a day. There is, thankfully, still a lot to do at Hogwarts over the next week, so I don’t really have time to think about my upcoming meeting with Draco.

Nerves start to really hit me around six tonight. I force myself to practise a few spells in my living room, analysing each and every single movement and incantation so that I can teach them properly. I can’t help taking my watch out every four or five minutes. I manage to wait until ten to six before I rush upstairs and start dressing. Like the last time, I opt for something casual but comfortable. It’s not a date, after all.

I didn't tell anyone that I was meeting him today, though, and I don’t think he did either.

He’s already there when I arrive, even though I’m perfectly on time. Seeing him again is not as much as a shock as it was last week, but my breath still catches in my throat as I take him in, as stunningly gorgeous as ever as he stands up and greets me as if we were having dinner in the poshest place in London. He’s wearing severe, formal, buttoned-up robes that surprisingly barely hide the hard lines of his body underneath.

And then he smiles at me, a beautiful, familiar, warm smile that makes my knees go weak.

“I’m not late,” I blurt out as we stand beside the booth. I keep my hands at my sides. How are you supposed to greet someone you were once intimate with? Should we hug? Shake hands?

“I can see that,” he says as he sits, smiling again. I do the same before my legs betray me. “I’ve taken the liberty to order a Butterbeer for you, but you can always get something else, if you want.”

I shrug. “Butterbeer’s fine.”

“Good.”

It’s so weird seeing him here. So weird to think that we used to sleep in the same bed, share every single moment together, and somehow, that’s probably what hurts the most. That one day we were as close as two people can be and the next…

“So, how have you been?” he asks politely.

“Okay, I guess.”

“Good.”

He takes a sip of his Butterbeer, making his lips shiny before he licks them clean and I catch a glimpse of the pink tip of his tongue. I feel my face heat as uninvited pictures of that very same tongue and lips all over me pop up in my head.

I take a deep breath. “So, er, you… You… Er, you’re still at Blaise’s?”

“Yes. I was supposed to rent one of those flat things, but I still don’t have access to my vaults, so, in the end, Blaise invited me to stay longer at his place.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. But then, I’m in a separate wing and have my own bathrooms and kitchen so it’s not like… We don’t really live together.”

“Right.” I take a gulp of my Butterbeer, buying myself time to think about something else to ask. Draco doesn’t let me though.

“Did you have something to eat?”

“Er, not really, no.” When I suggested a place and time to meet last week, I’d not taken into account the fact that it would be dinnertime. Oh well.

“Good. What would you like, then?”

I tear my eyes from him and focus on the menu floating nearby. I go for the first item on the list.

“Bangers and mash.”

“Good. I’ll be right back.”

He rises gracefully, and I let out a breath of relief. I take advantage of the fact he has his back to me to study the way his robes cling to his body, the way he moves elegantly about the room… Never before had formal robes made such an impression on me.

“So, Blaise told me you were going to be a teacher at Hogwarts?” he says as he comes back with another couple of Butterbeers in hand.

“Yeah, it’s…” I wave my hand dismissively, then rest it on the table. “Yes.”

“I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful teacher. Hogwarts is very lucky to have you.”

“I’m not sure the students will agree, but thanks.”

“I’m sure they will love you. Even back at school, everybody loved you. Which was why I hated you so much, I guess,” he says with a smirk.

“You remember? I mean, is it still coming back, then? Your memory?”

He takes a breath, tilting his chin a little. “It’s… bits and pieces.”

“That’s good.”

“Well, yes, I guess.” He shrugs.

I frown. I can tell there’s something- “What does Anna think?”

He brings his hand to his mouth and clears his throat, avoiding my gaze. A pink tinge forms on his pale cheeks.

“What?”

“I don’t-”

“Here you go, gentlemen,” Hannah says cheerfully, a couple of plates floating next to her. “The salmon for you,” she says, flicking her wand over Draco’s plate, making it land softly in front of him, “And the sausages. Watch out, the plates are a bit hot.”

Hannah sets a fork and a knife next to each of our plates. I smile as Draco swiftly puts his knife on the right of his plate, straightening it so it’s perfectly aligned with the fork on the other side.

“Anything else?”

“No, we’re all right,” I reply. “Thank you, Hannah.” And off she goes.

Draco grabs his fork and knife. “Bon appétit, Harry,” he says before digging in without another look in my direction.

I reach for his arm and will him to look at me.

“Draco.” He puts his cutlery down, and I move my hand. “You’re still seeing Anna, right?”

“We…” He sighs. “Not much.”

“Why is that?”

“Because… She’s pretty busy, and I…” He looks deep into my eyes. “I thought I was all right.”

I let the words sink in for a moment, as he fumbles with his plate, avoiding my gaze. “So you’re not…”

“Listen,” he says, looking up again. “It’s not her fault. She… It was getting hard for her. She had to come and see me at ridiculous hours, and it was really complicated. Her workload is absurd these days, I don’t know if she told you but she works-”

“She did. She told me.”

“Right. So at one point I told her we couldn't go on like that. We talked a lot, and in the end, she admitted she really couldn’t look after me like she used to when I was staying with you. So she sent me somebody else.”

“And how did it go?”

“At first, it was okay. He would come and visit me every day, and I mean, he wasn’t Anna, that’s for sure, but I… It was okay. But then, I was feeling much better, and I started thinking I didn’t really need him anymore and I-”

“You led him to believe you were all right.”

“He wasn’t… He’s not like Anna, he would believe everything I said, and I…” Of course. No matter how much I love him, I know how Draco can be. “God, you’re disappointed.”

“No,” I lie.

“You are, I know you. I’ve let you down.”

“No, you haven’t. If you’ve ever let anyone down, it’s you, Draco, not me.”

“I shouldn’t have… But, I really believed I didn’t need anyone anymore. I really believed I was in the clear, and I could do everything by myself, that I could...” He shakes his head.

“That you could what?”

He hesitates. “Watch them.”

“Watch what?” I feel the blood leaving my face. “Oh my God, Draco, you didn’t! Please tell me you didn’t watch them by yourself again!”

He locks gaze with me. “I did,” he says in a breath. “I’m sorry.”

“But how did you-” I frown. “How did you manage to- I thought Blaise was supposed to hide the phials and-”

“He did. But I Summoned them.”

“Holy bloody fucking Merlin,” I say, leaning against the back of my seat. “How come Blaise didn’t see anything?”

“Blaise isn’t around much either. That was the whole point of me leaving, remember? I was supposed to go and learn to live by myself. I guess I’ve failed miserably.”

“Hey. That’s okay.” I’m very tempted to reach for him, but I don’t. “I think you should go and see Anna, talk with her a little, maybe? You can’t stay on your own, not with the trials and everything that’s going to happen over the next few weeks.”

“I just wanted to be completely healed before I saw you again. I did not expect-”

“Oh, Merlin, so that’s it then? Draco, you’ve made tremendous progress. God, do you remember how you were when you first arrived home? You couldn’t even speak, or leave your room! You have to give it time!”

He smiles, and there’s tenderness in this smile. He leans forward and almost reaches for my hand.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know?”

“You evil flatterer,” I say with a smirk. “That won’t work with me.”

“You know it will,” he says, and I chuckle at the look on his face.

“You’re not that irresistible, you know,” I lie.

We spend the rest of the evening catching up. It’s so good to see him, to spend time with him. Talking to him like this brings all kinds of warm memories, and I can almost forget that we’re in a public place and not comfortably having dinner at home.

Draco tells me all about moving in at Blaise’s, trying to get his life back on track. He tells me how hard the first few days were, even though he doesn’t regret leaving. Living on his own is much harder than he’d anticipated, and with the trials that are about to start, he spends a lot of time testifying and answering unpleasant questions at the Ministry.

As he talks, I have this urge to protect him again, to keep him away from the world and any potential suffering. But, for the first time, I fully understand how right he was to leave me. Because, yes, it’s complicated outside; yes, he could get hurt, like he was before, maybe even worse; yes, he’s taking risks by exposing himself and subjecting himself to the not always benevolent scrutiny of the outside world; and yes, there are ugly and terrifying things out there.

But that’s what _living_ is all about. Living is hard, it’s complicated, it’s messy, and it hurts sometimes. But it can also be beautiful, and soft and warm, and worth it.

I smile. “I’m proud of you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What for?”

“Choosing the hardest path. That was very brave of you.”

He opens his mouth a couple of times as if to say something, but in the end, he simply says, “Thank you,” and we change the subject.

I tell him about my plans for the future, my work with Neville in the greenhouses, Hogwarts, and my future job. He seems genuinely happy for me, and it’s really good to have him back.

Hannah practically has to throw us out and that’s when we both realise how late it is. I haven’t noticed the time pass. It’s as if the whole night had lasted an hour, while we were in there for ages.

But we have to go back home.

Separately.

Once outside, I pause to take in the still relatively warm night.

“Well,” he says, hands in the pockets of his cloak.

“Can you… Can you Apparate on your own?”

“Not yet. We haven’t really found the time for that.”

“Right. So how are you-”

“I’ll call Blaise.”

I frown as he fumbles in his pocket and takes out a round, flat object that I know well. “I’ve got this.”

“An Enchanted Galleon? Where did you-”

“Hermione gave a couple to me when I left. Showed me how to use them, even though, for some reason, I already knew.”

I watch him send a quick message to Blaise before his eyes meet mine again.

“So.”

“I’ve had a great night,” I say and feel my cheeks heat a little as he smiles back at me.

“Me too.”

“Maybe we should… I mean, let's do it again sometime?”

I can tell from the look on his face that we’re thinking about the same thing. That I once said we could not remain friends. At the time, it felt impossible, but after tonight…

“Definitely.” His gaze is intense as he inches closer and I hold my breath. “I’ll owl you.”

“Okay.”

There’s a loud pop as Blaise Apparates a few feet away from us, making us both jerk back.

“How did it go?” Blaise asks, a mischievous look on his face.

“Very well,” I reply.

“Good. Shall we go, then?” he says, turning to Draco.

“Yes. Goodbye, Harry.”

I watch them as they disappear with another loud pop, and find myself all alone in the street. I wish I’d taken my broom to get back home. I walk the almost deserted street, replaying the events of the night in my mind before going back home.

_**Twelve**_

_**** _

**\- HARRY -**

**\- I -**

_September 2003_  
After that, Draco and I meet every week at the Leaky.

Seeing him every Friday night is, without a doubt, the highlight of my week. We rapidly settle back in our familiar, comfortable relationship, and it’s exactly as it used to be. Except Draco doesn’t come home with me.

If our weekly meetings are indeed the highlight of my week, being a teacher takes up all the rest. As soon as the students arrived on the first of September, everything got more intense. I had forgotten the atmosphere that reigns in Hogwarts during the school year, and even though I’d never want to be a student ever again, I realise I’d missed it dearly. When I see young witches and wizards in their uniforms hurrying for class or for lunch, or being chased by Peeves, I remember why I once considered this place my home. This is the place I grew up in, the place that made a difference in my life. This is the place I’ve made lifelong friends, the place where I’ve faced my greatest fears, unearthed my deepest desires.

At the start, it felt really weird to be a teacher. When I first sat at the grown-ups table, as I call it, it was very strange. The Great Hall seemed smaller than in my memories. Seeing the four long tables before me, with the four different house colours, brought me back to the very first time I’d entered the Great Hall, full of apprehension for the Sorting ceremony. I smiled as I recalled how anxious I’d been not to be sorted into Slytherin because I already hated all that Draco represented back then. Little did I know that twelve years later, I’d be sitting at the teachers’ table, having been in an intense relationship with Draco Malfoy for nearly a year.

The following day I gave my very first lesson as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

The first few minutes were torture, to be honest; I felt clumsy and inadequate, and kept wondering what on earth had possessed McGonagall to ask me. Thankfully, I soon got the hang of it, and once I got the discussion started about why it was important to study Defence, it all went swimmingly, even though I didn’t cover half of what I’d planned. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to children calling me Professor, though, but that’s another story.

All in all, I’m happier than I’ve been in a very long time.

I arrive one morning in mid-September at the gates of Hogwarts and mount my broom as soon as I’ve gone through the castle’s wards. As I fly near the Quidditch pitch, I hear loud voices and get curious. I make a slight detour, and, sure enough, the whole Gryffindor team is ready for practice. The uniforms haven’t changed and I feel my heart clench, remembering how much Quidditch had mattered to me when I was a student. I’m happy I’ve taken to flying again, because I’d truly missed it. Especially since I’m not alone anymore; Draco regularly joins me at the weekend, and we fight for the Snitch like in the good old days.

I fly closer to the pitch and observe the team from afar.

The captain of the team is a blonde girl with a ponytail and it’s easy to see why she’s the leader. She has this innate sense of leadership, and her session is very well structured. She makes time for everyone and has everybody work together at different posts. No one is overlooked and everybody must feel equally important.

Their seeker, a small black boy, is particularly sharp and quick. His flying skills are undeniable, even though I’m sure he could gain in speed if he modified his position on the broom a little.

I see them again the next week, and, as I hover over the stands, the captain of the Gryffindor team notices me and flies toward me.

“I thought it was you,” she starts, a wide smile on her lips. “But I wasn’t sure.”

“Well,” I say. “Nice team you’ve got there.”

“They’re not bad,” she says, smiling again. “A bit rusty after the break, but I think we’ll be ready for the first game in a few weeks.”

“You will.”

“We need a bit more practice though.”

I nod, tilting my chin towards the pitch as the team’s Seeker flies about it, sweeping and rolling through the air. “He’s pretty fast.”

“Campbell? Yeah, he’s not bad. He says he practised over the summer but, I don’t know. There’s something…”

“It’s his position,” I say without thinking, and she narrows her eyes a little. “He’s a bit too slouched forward, probably thinking it’d help him gain speed, which is not entirely wrong, but it’s important to find the right angle so as not to ruin the purpose of the position. If you slouch too much on your broom, then the dynamics reverse and you tend to be slightly slower. It’s not always visible, but you can easily feel the difference.”

She stares at me for a couple of seconds, then nods. “I agree. I’ll talk to him about it.”

“So, when’s the first game?”

“November thirteenth. Against Slytherin,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“How’s the Slytherin team this year?”

“Arrogant as usual,” she says. “They’re sure they’re going to beat us because the team’s just got brand new brooms but we’re not afraid,” she adds, lifting her chin in defiance.

I laugh. “Some things just never change I guess.”

“Why don’t you come and support your old team then?”

“What, in November?”

“Yes. It’d be fun. And I bet the Slytherins would be greener than their uniforms if they saw you up there in the stands.”

I chuckle. “It’s a deal then, I’ll come.” I’m sure I'll even be able to convince Draco to come with me. Should be fun.

“Great,” she says, holding out her hand for me to shake. “I’m Tina by the way. Tina Lewis.”

“Harry. Nice to meet you, Tina.”

“Right, I’ve got to go. It’s been a pleasure,” she says again before heading back to her team.

I watch them a couple more minutes high up in the air before heading to class and starting my day.

 

  **\- II -**

“Sorry, I’m late,” I say as I sit in our booth, removing my cloak and throwing it next to me on the seat.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor,” Draco says with a smirk. “Are you still wearing your teaching robes?”

“Yeah, I didn’t have time to go home. I’ve just Apparated from Hogwarts.”

“What’s happened?”

I wince. “I had to give my first detention.”

“Oh.” He raises an eyebrow. “You did?”

“Well, yes?”

“You, the boy who broke about all the rules at Hogwarts and then some, gave detention?” he says, looking utterly amused.

“Hey, they were fighting! I warned them several times and tried to reason with them, but they wouldn’t listen! They were on the floor punching each other!”

He laughs. “What year?”

“Third.”

“Let me guess: a Gryffindor and a Slytherin?”

I chuckle. “Of course. What else.”

“So you punished the Slytherin then?”

“No, I punished them both. Although, to be honest, the Slytherin did provoke the other one.”

“Oh, really, Potter?” he says, leaning forward. “It’s always the Slytherins’ fault. Things don’t change.”

“No, it’s not.” I frown. “What do you take me for? Do you really think I’d-”

“Just saying,” he says with a smile before taking a gulp of his drink.

“Well, I’m an impartial teacher, and I won’t-”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he says with a dismissing gesture. “What did you ask them to do? In detention?”

“I had them practise defensive spells for an hour.”

“That’s not too bad.”

“I wanted it to be useful, although I’m not sure they’ve learned their lesson.”

“Well, look at us. Detentions never prevented us from fighting over and over again.”

“True. But then, I doubt they’ll ever end up together.” I regret the words as soon as I’ve said them. It’s the first time I’ve mentioned our relationship since we started seeing each other again.

“Well, you don’t know about that. I’m not sure many people imagined us ending up together. I mean, Snape would have a fit if he was still around to see it.”

I laugh. “True.”

“Life is full of surprises.”

“Indeed.” I take a sip of my drink, letting it wash away the tension of the day. Teaching is exhausting, and there’s not a single idle moment. Which suits me just fine.

“Oh, I nearly forgot.”

“What?”

“Are you available in November?”

He frowns. “Well, I don’t know. It will depend on the trials.”

“Right.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s the first Quidditch match of the season and I thought that maybe we could… go together?”

“What teams?”

“What do you think?”

He chuckles. “Right. I’ll be there if I can. It will be fun to see your team getting ripped apart by mine.”

“You wish, Malfoy.” I take a sip of my drink. “So, what have you been up to, this week?”

“Well, I’ve started the Pensieve sessions with Anna again.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but I have them at St Mungo’s now. I suppose you’ve heard about Anna’s rehabilitation programme?”

“I have, yes.”

“Well, I’m going to take part in it, both as a patient, and as some sort of consultant on the subject.”

“Oh?”

“Well, yes. As you probably know, the Ministry’s really interested in the experimentation she and Hermione conducted with me.”

I nod.

“So basically, I’m going to collaborate with them, help them refine what works and what needs improvement.”

“That’s great!”

“Yes, it’s pretty good.”

“And what about… the trials?”

“I’ll attend.” There’s determination in his voice, no hesitation, even though I see him stiffen a little. “I’ve… pondered it for a while but I think it’s… I think it’s important that I be there.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Well, I’m not…” He lifts his head to look up at me. “I’ve made my peace I guess. I don’t seek revenge. I just want justice to be done and then to finally move on. I’m looking forward to putting everything behind me to be honest.”

“Right.” I let his words sink in. Draco’s made his peace. He’s moving on.

“I’m happy for you.”

He smiles, and I want to kiss him. “Thanks.”

It’s nearly midnight when we leave the Leaky. It’s much colder these days so I cast a Warming Charm on the two of us as soon as we step outside.

“Next Friday, then?” Draco asks.

“Oh. No, I forgot.”

“What?” He frowns.

“I won’t be there next Friday. Hermione will be celebrating her birthday, nothing big, but she asked me to cook for her so we’ll do something at home.”

He nods, his expression undecipherable. “All right, then.”

“Will you… Would you like to come?”

“At your place?”

“Well, yes?”

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know, I’m-” He shakes his head. “I’m not sure this is a good idea, you know?”

My heart sinks. “Why not?”

“I don’t think I’m quite… ready to go back there. I mean, I… Maybe another time?”

“Right.” I smile. “Another time it is, then.”

“Okay, I have to go. See you in a couple of weeks.”

I nod, even though two weeks feels like a lifetime. “Yeah.”

“Good night, Harry.”

“Good night.” And I Apparate back home.

**\- III -**

I don’t hang about after school tonight because I have a lot to do before everybody arrives at my house. As soon as I step inside, I head for the kitchen, and start the lasagne Hermione requested for her birthday.

While the sauce cooks, I set the table with my wand, and then retrieve the huge baking dish Mrs Weasley gave me when I first moved in. I remember thinking at the time that it wouldn’t be a very useful gift, but I must admit I’ve used it quite a lot over the years.

I point my wand at the pan and flick it until the béchamel pours in the dish. Then I add the lasagne sheets and use my wand again to spread the tomato meat sauce on top, then more béchamel and sprinkle grated cheese over the mixture.

“Not enough cheese,” Draco’s annoyed voice echoes in my head. I smile and close my eyes, and he’s there.

“You really have a weird relationship with cheese, you know?” I say as Draco adds yet another handful of cheese to his veggies.

He rolls his eyes. “Well, you have a really weird relationship with fashion, and I’m not making a big deal of it.”

“Oh, ha ha, very funny.”

“Thank you. I find myself pretty hilarious.”

I open my eyes again and add another lasagna sheet to the dish.

Everybody arrives at the same time and soon the house is filled with chatter and laughter. Blaise brought a bottle of expensive wine, and Neville made the cake because baking is not among my talents.

Hannah starts serving the Butterbeers she brought from the Leaky.

“Hey, I thought it was your night off,” I tell her, taking the bottles and serving everybody.

“Force of habit,” she says with a smile.

I Summon nibbles from the kitchen and we raise our drinks.

“To Hermione,” I say, “Happy birthday!”

“Happy birthday!”

We eat and chat and laugh and eat some more. Everybody seems happy with the lasagne, and I’m just happy they seem happy.

“We have something to tell you,” Ron says once his plate his empty, looking at Hermione, and for a moment, there seems to be nobody else in the world but the two of them. Ron removes a strand of hair from her face, beaming at her. “We’re engaged.”

The living room fills with cries of delight as everyone stands up and starts talking at the same time, and the room fills with shrieks, and squeals and peals of laughter. Anna, Blaise, Neville and Hannah take turns hugging and patting Ron and Hermione on the back.

“Congratulations!”

“Wonderful!”

“A wedding!”

I take a long look at them, and have a hard time realising what’s going on, that my two best friends are getting _married_ , because it seems like yesterday that we were all fighting Voldemort, and we are all still so young!

And there’s something else too, something that makes my heart flip inside my chest as conflicting emotions run through me and overwhelm me. I push them away as I stride round the coffee table and hug them both tightly, my face buried in Hermione’s hair as we twirl together, and my heart swells in my chest when Ron asks, “Will you be my best man?”

“Of course, mate, of course, I will!”

The rest of the evening consists of excited talk about the what, the where, the who, and the when. Being surrounded by friends, with so much elation in the air, fills me with incredible warmth and I can’t help beaming at Ron and Hermione like a loon.

I stand up and go to the kitchen to prepare the dessert Neville brought. I Summon the cake from the cooling cupboard, and then grab the mugs for the tea. I freeze when my eyes fall on Draco’s favourite ridiculous mug at the back of the cabinet and I reach for it, staring at it for a while, running my fingertip over the rim before pressing it to my lips and closing my eyes.

A warm hand on my back makes me pop my eyes open and I swiftly discard the mug on the countertop.

“You okay?” Hermione asks with a soft smile.

“Of course! It’s great news, and I’m so, so happy for the two of you. I just can’t believe you’re getting married!”

“Yes,” she says, beaming, waving her wand over the cake, slicing it neatly in seven equal parts. “It’s wonderful when you find someone who makes everything so much brighter in your life.”

I cast a fleeting glance at Draco’s ridiculous mug and swallow the huge lump in my throat. “Yeah.”

“Every relationship is hard work, but the reward…”

She looks up at me and our eyes meet.

“But then, maybe some relationships were never meant to be in the first place. Maybe some of them are doomed from the very beginning.”

“Is that so?” And her gaze is as intense as her voice is soft. I keep silent.

After a few seconds, I shake my head and smile at her. “Let’s not talk about that right now. We are going to have cake to celebrate your engagement. Now, you bring it to the living room and I’ll take care of the drinks.”

I don’t let her answer, and start filling the kettle with water and pour the Firewhisky in the glasses. I can see from the corners of my eyes that she’s still standing there.

“I’m fine, Hermione, now can you just-” I gesture at the cake.

“Right.”

She finally levitates the cake away and I let out a breath of relief. I put Draco’s mug as far back into the cabinet as I can, and pour the scalding water into the other mugs. I force a smile on my face, and head to the living room with the tray full of drinks floating by my side.

  **\- IV -**

As I enter the living room, I pause to take a look at them all - Ron slumped in Hermione’s arms as she strokes his hair absentmindedly, talking to Hannah sitting on the other side of the couch with Neville nestled between her legs on the floor. Neville himself is deep in conversation with Blaise, and Anna listens to them attentively. The way she looks at Blaise…

I think that’s what does me in. Here I am, standing here, staring at them all so obviously in love that it makes something inside me ache.

This happiness… It’s not much - a loving gesture, an affectionate look, a brushing of the hand - but it’s everything.

It’s _everything._

And it's what I want. It's what I _need_. It's what I crave so hard, the intensity of it threatens to overwhelm me.

A loud, resounding noise snaps me out of my state of numbness, and it takes me a few seconds to realise that the tray is no longer floating next to me, that it’s just crashed on the floor, spilling the drinks from the broken mugs and glasses scattered all over the carpet.

The room is silent and every eye is on me.

“Mate, you okay?” Ron finally asks but I ignore him.

I turn to Blaise instead. “Where’s Draco?” I ask in a hoarse voice.

He frowns. “Excuse me, what?”

“Where’s Draco? Draco? Where is he? Where’s Draco?”

I probably sound like a madman right now, but I just don’t give a flying fuck. I don’t fucking care. My mind is focused on the one and only thing that matters to me right now.

“Draco? Blond, stubborn prat who used to live here?”

“He’s at Blaise’s,” Anna says, her voice as soft and gentle as mine is hard and rasp.

I don’t waste any more time. I run to the fireplace, take a pinch of Floo powder, throw it into the flames and the fire roars, turning emerald green and rising up. I step into it and say “Blaise’s house!” as clearly as I can, not an ounce of doubt in my voice.

  **\- V -**

I stumble into a dark room and a cold shiver runs through my body. I’d not expected the place to be pitch-black. But then, it’s not as if I had time to expect anything at all.

 _“Lumos,”_ I whisper and my wand tip ignites, casting light on a huge, high-ceilinged room - probably the drawing room - of the manor. The Zabini family is indeed insanely rich, probably as rich as the Malfoys. But unlike them, the Zabinis were able to keep all their assets after the war, having not taken a side. I remember joking with Blaise about him not really needing to work, and he’d answered very seriously, “Ah but, Potter, things are different now, even for us, aristocrats.”

I take a few tentative steps, shining my lit wand around the room as I realise how stupid I’ve been to turn up unannounced like this, in a house that I’ve never been to, without even knowing if Draco’s even here at all, or even if he’s…  
  
I stop dead by the huge table in the middle of the room, the light from my wand reflecting in the magnificent chandelier above me and casting thousands of little dots of light all over the walls.  
  
I try to swallow the lump that’s just formed in my throat and I close my eyes.  
  
Merlin.

What if Draco’s not alone? What if he took advantage of Anna and Blaise being at my house to meet with someone? What if he’s currently _busy_ with someone, and I barge in on them and I-

I open my eyes, and release the grip on my wand where my nails dig a little bit too deep into the soft flesh of my palm.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I desperately push away unwanted pictures of Draco, naked, in bed with some faceless bloke and rush to the fireplace, going as fast as my feet will carry me. I reach for the pot of Floo powder on the mantelpiece.

“ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ”

I’m instantly paralysed. It takes a second for the information to reach my brain before my whole body topples over and I land with a loud thud on the ground. I’m lucky I was holding my hand out to grab the pot because it prevented me from falling face first on the floor.

I’m completely stiff, unable to make a single movement as I feel the spell caster’s foot tip me over onto my back.

“Harry?”

The look on his face.

I remain frozen in place, my arm now pointing to the ceiling, staring at him, my heart racing crazily, the only muscle in my body still able to move.

“What the-”

He flicks his wand and the room lights up at once. Then he turns back and points his wand at me. _“Finite.”_ There’s a flash of red light, and my body unfreezes.

“What are you- Why are you- Has something happened?” Draco asks as I get to my feet with as much dignity as I can muster. I curse myself for being such an idiot and acting on impulse without thinking for one second about how it’d look.

“What? No, I-”

“Where are Anna and Blaise? Are they all right?” And Merlin, the look of concern on his face!

“God, yes, yes, they are, they’re still at my place. Don’t worry, I just- God, I’m such an idiot! This was a terrible idea. I’m sorry, I’m just-” I take a deep breath. “I’m going to go now. Goodbye, Draco.” And I turn to the fireplace again.

But he doesn’t let me and grabs my arm. “No!” he says loudly. “Harry, don’t.”

I turn to look at him again. “Don’t go,” he says in a softer tone, releasing the grip on my arm, his face… expectant. “Please, tell me why you’re here.”

We stare at each other for a moment that feels like hours. We have this tacit agreement, Draco and I. We meet regularly, but only as friends. Not once over the past few weeks has it been question of us getting back together. Not once. And that’s fine; his friendship is too precious to me to risk it by barging in unannounced in his new home.

“I, er.” I look frantically around the room, looking for something, anything, that would do the trick. “I came to fetch something for Blaise.”

Draco’s face shuts and something indecipherable passes across it. “Oh.”

“Er, yes, he, er, he needed something from his house right now and I, er, I offered to get it for him.”

“Really?” He folds his arms across his chest, an almost smile on his lips.

“Yes. He, er, he wanted-” I take another look at the room and spot a pinky purply thingy that looks like a glass vase. “This!” I say, pointing at the thing.

Draco raises an eyebrow. “A vase,” he says very slowly. “Blaise needed a _vase_ , and you _offered_ to come and get it for him.”

I turn my head slightly to the right, my eyes narrowed a little. “Yes?”

He unfolds his arms and slowly walks towards me until he’s so close I can see the little specks of blue in his otherwise grey eyes. He lifts his wand and murmurs, _“Accio Vase.”_ The vase flies to his hand and he hands it to me. “There you go,” he says never leaving my eyes. My heart beats faster at our physical proximity, the closest we can be without actually touching. My fingers brush his as I take the vase from him and a thrill courses through me.

“Anything else?” he says, licking his lips, and Merlin, he’s even closer now.

“Er, no.” God, I’m pathetic.

“Are you having fun?”

“What?”

“At the party? Is Hermione happy?”

“Oh, er, yes, she is, yes. I think so.”

“Good,” he says with a smile that makes me hot all over.

We’re close.

So close.

So, so close.

I swallow hard. “Right, I think I- I think I should go. I, er, I have to bring Blaise this,” I say, lifting the vase up in the air.

He pulls back, leaving me feeling cold and empty at once. “Right. Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

I walk back to the fireplace for the second time this evening, cursing myself for wanting him so much, needing him so much it hurts.

And then, standing by the fireplace, staring at the stupid fucking glass vase in my hand. “This is not right,” I mutter under my breath. “This is not fucking right.”

I snap, and turn so fast my neck cracks.

“I’m sorry, I lied.”

He frowns. “What?”

“I lied, earlier on. I didn’t come to get-” I take a look at the vase and take in the ridiculousness of the situation. “I didn’t come to get this fucking ugly thing for Blaise.”

His body seems to relax at once, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “What did you come for then?”

“I love you,” I blurt out, and Draco’s eyes widen. “I love you, and I just can’t live without you. I know I’m supposed to give you space, and you have no idea how many times I've had to remind myself that it was the right thing to do for you, but the truth is, I can’t. I just can’t. I can’t live without you.” I speak faster now, and Draco’s attention is rapt.

“Everything is supposed to be good, but the truth is, it’s not. It’s not because I fucking miss you. I miss all of you all of the time. I miss your presence, your voice, your touch, your stupid humour and your ridiculous need for control, and I don’t care what it means, that I’m not supposed to need you that much because somehow, I do, and I just can’t stand it anymore.”

There’s no stopping me now. “Seeing you every week is both a blessing and a curse, and I’m fed up pretending everything’s all right when you being away hurts so much I can hardly go through the day sometimes. And God, I’m so sorry, because I wasn’t supposed to barge in here and tell you all that, because I know I should leave you alone, and let you live your life, because you’re the one who broke up with me, and I should respect that, and I’ve tried. Merlin, I’ve tried, but I- Fuck, I’m being so selfish again and-”

“Harry,” Draco starts, gripping my arms.  
 _  
_“It’s just that I can’t-”

“Harry!”

He tightens his hold on me and forces me to look at him.

“Harry, I… We ought to… God, you’re…” He closes his eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. “Oh, fuck it.”

He grabs the vase, discards it on the table, and suddenly my hands are full of him, and I don’t know who started it, really, but our lips meet, and it’s so warm and familiar and fucking wonderful that I just stop thinking at once.

  **\- VI -**

I don’t know anything anymore.

All I know is that it doesn’t seem fair that human beings were granted only two hands, because I could easily have used at least a couple more to touch him everywhere.

I don’t know exactly how we find ourselves rolling and kissing, and scratching and biting, and removing annoying clothing on the rug by the fireplace, and still manage to remember to breathe from time to time.

I don’t know how we both end up naked, skin burning and breath short, lips brushing everywhere in desperate need, tongues tracing familiar trails on wonderfully familiar planes.

I only know that right now, nothing else matters, nothing but the taste of him, the scent of him, of home, of my everything as I throw my arms around his neck, letting my hands caress his back before they find their way up to his beautiful hair and I drown in his kisses, in wonderful nonsense whispered in my ears, in the little sounds he makes that turn me on way more than is reasonable.

And when, finally, we get as close as two people can possibly be, the brightness in his eyes, the soft ‘o’ of his lips above me, the wonderful sensations setting my whole body alight, I bask in blissful oblivion as we rock together towards completion.

His ragged breaths above me as we slowly come down are music to my ears. He looks at me, he looks at _me_ , a small smile curling his lips before he buries his face in my neck, chuckling softly as I fasten my arms around him, holding him tight, never wanting to let him go ever again.

The warmth of the nearby fireplace combined with post-orgasmic bliss makes me dizzy, the weight of his body wrapped around mine comforting and reassuring.

“Well…” he says, chuckling against my neck.

“Yeah,” I say, beaming at the ceiling, his warm breath tickling my skin.

“That was…”

“Yes.”

He places a soft kiss on my neck and I close my eyes, starting to drift off.

“Maybe we… Maybe we should talk a little.”

I open my eyes. “Okay,” I say in a breath, waiting for him to go on.

“I’ve thought about us a lot lately, and…” My heart skips a beat and then races furiously in my chest as a multitude of thoughts jostle in my head. I shut them up at once. “And I’m still not completely… I mean, there’s still a long way to go before I'm fully recovered, you know that.”

“Yes.”

“I tried. I really did try to see you just as a friend. All the meetings at the Leaky, they were… It was bittersweet. They made me insanely happy, and being with you… just felt right.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“But it was also… I mean, I was so dependent on you when I was with you, and I can’t… It’s not supposed to be like that, you know? That’s why I wanted to leave. I needed to prove to myself that I was able to take care of myself before I could be with someone else.”

I nod, urging him on.

“I’m not totally out of it. And I’m still…” His hand freezes on my stomach for a moment before resuming tracing patterns on my skin. “It won’t be easy.”

“If I’d wanted easy, I’d never have shacked up with a Malfoy in the first place.”

He pinches the skin on my side.

“Ouch, you brute!”

“Totally deserved it.” He smirks, and then falls silent for a while, thinking hard.

I wait for him to sort his thoughts out, focusing on the movements of his hand on my chest instead.

“My life is still a huge mess.”

“I know.”

“And I can’t… I don’t think I’m ready to move back in with you just yet.”

I briefly close my eyes and swallow the inevitable disappointment. I remind myself that I can’t have it all. I already have him, and it’s more than enough. “I understand.”

I feel him smile against my skin. “Of course, you do.” His soft kiss on my stomach, so chaste and pure and beautiful and simple brings heat to my belly. “But I’m… I’m willing to take my chances. If you want me, that is.”

“I want you. I want you, no matter what. All of you, all of the time, for better and for worse. I want you. We can handle whatever happens together.” My heart races furiously in my chest.

He pushes himself up on his hands and comes to rest on top of me, his face inches from mine. “God, I’ve missed you,” he says before kissing me, and I whimper at the soft pressure of his body on mine. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

And my hands are once again all over him, as I run them down his back, cupping his arse in earnest, moaning against his mouth.

“Fuck, Harry, fuck,” he says against my mouth as he rolls his hips, and I’m about to retort something when a sudden roaring noise to my right makes my whole body freeze.

“What the-”

I barely have time to grab one of our shirts to cover us a little than Blaise’s familiar voice echoes through the huge room.

“They might have a problem,” he’s telling someone over his shoulder with a soft chuckle as I turn to see his face in the blazing fire and my cheeks flame.

“What? Let me see,” I hear Ron say behind him and his face replaces Blaise’s in the fire. “Oh bloody hell!” he says, his hands flying up to cover his eyes. “Blimey, Harry! Did you really have to- Blaise, you fuck!”

“Hey, I never told you to look!” Blaise smirks behind him.

“But he’s my best mate!” says Ron, indignant, his hands still firmly planted over his eyes. “Really, Harry!”

“Hey, I’m not the one who barged in uninvited!” I protest.

“Well, technically…” Draco says next to me, and I let out a small laugh, before kissing him hard on the lips.

“Merlin, Harry, do you know how long it’ll take me to get over the fact that I had to see Malfoy… _naked_?”

“Jealous, Weasley?” Draco says, and I chuckle before he leans in and takes me in another passionate kiss, probably for Ron’s benefit.

“I’m out,” Ron says before disappearing, and the room falls silent again.

“Right, I think I should…” I say, tilting my head in the direction of the fireplace.

“Yeah, I think you should.”

We get up and dress in silence. When we’re done, I grab him by the collar and kiss him fiercely once more. “Are you coming with me to the party?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he answers with a smile.


	5. Chapter 5

 

**EPILOGUE**  
 _“Take me into your loving arms_  
 _Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars_  
 _Place your head on my beating heart_  
 _Thinking out loud_  
 _That maybe we found love right where we are.”_  
Ed Sheeran - Thinking Out Loud

_****_ **\- DRACO -**

_Six months later_  
The pale midday sun filtering through the diamond-paned windows isn’t enough to bring warmth to my body, and I have to cast yet another Warming Charm as I stride towards the east wing of Malfoy manor.

Walking through the long corridors brings back many memories, both good and bad. I take my time, my feet finding their way easily through the familiar maze of large, lifeless rooms.

The hardest part is visiting my former quarters, and particularly, my bedroom. I unconsciously slow my pace as I walk closer to my goal. I take in each and every single detail of my surroundings: the Persian carpet running the length of the corridor, the mahogany tables on which Mother would place a fresh bouquet of lilies, peonies, or white roses - depending on the season - every day. As my fingers brush the dusty furniture, I can almost smell the heady scent from my childhood, escorting me all the way to my bedroom.

I place my hand on the doorknob and take a deep breath, closing my eyes and counting to twenty. It’s only the second time since I got my childhood home back that I venture into this area of the manor.

The first time was right after the trials.

The trials had been just that. A trial. It was pretty awful. Seeing the men that had stolen a part of my life, an important part of my past, hurt me more than I had anticipated. But I held on; I kept my head high until the end and listened to what they had to say. I refused to judge their actions; that was the role of the Wizengamot, after all. I simply listened, and stored information in a remote area of my brain. I remember the intense feeling of relief that had washed over me upon hearing the sentence - ten years in Azkaban for Burbage, eight for the others. It should have been more, much more than that, in my opinion, but the Wizengamot was never able to prove that abuse and memory alteration had a direct link with the deaths of some of the prisoners, including my father. I had to close my eyes and take deep breaths. Harry’s hand gently found mine and he laced our fingers together. Finally, this sombre part of my life was over; I was allowed to move on.

It took a month after the end of the trials for me to gain full access to my vaults again; another three weeks before finally reclaiming the family estate. And another couple of weeks to gather the courage to actually go there. Harry had offered to come with me, of course, but I had declined; it was something I needed to do on my own.

Now I am back again, on this cold day, pushing open the door to my former bedroom for the second and very last time.

I take my time to examine the testimonies of a past I feel estranged from, like the rocking-chair my mother used to sit in to read me bedtime stories. I remember how I would snuggle on her lap and listen to fascinating stories about dragons, dangerous deeds and glorified wizards who always managed to save the day. I close my eyes and can almost smell the faint flowery scent of my mother’s skin, right in the crook of her neck. Even years after her death, I still crave her comforting touch.

My eyes then move to the beautiful ornate desk I would spend hours drawing at as a child. Right above it, on the wall, are still the faded traces of Sticking Charms (not Permanent ones, Father would not have allowed it) holding the cards of my favourite Quidditch players. I remember being particularly in awe of an Australian Chaser called Matthew Echunga; I was fascinated by him, collecting articles about him that I kept in a folder under my pillow. Years later, I would use the very same folder to keep my mother’s letters - the ones she had written to me when Father was in Azkaban. I haven’t been able to retrieve them, unfortunately. They were lost after the war, and now only exist in my memories.

And then, there’s the rug on which I used to play Dragons with Goyle. I smile at the recollection - not so ancient in my mind, as I’ve revisited the memory in the Pensieve quite recently. When I was little, the rug had seemed enormous, and I would sprawl on it, tangle my fingers in the thick wool and invent stories. Most of the time, I was a wizard who had been stranded on an island, but other times I imagined I stood on a giant cloud on which I had landed because my broom had gone too high. I loved this rug. The house-elves would often find me asleep on it. Of course, now it’s all dusty and moths have feasted on it; it doesn’t look like much.

Still, I sit on it, running my fingers affectionately in it, trying to recapture the sensation of the innocence I've lost. So many things have happened since I last sat on this rug, so much has changed. I let out a deep sigh.

There. What's done is done. No regrets. I am done with this room; I am done with this house.

I go to get up, but when I press my hand to the carpet for balance, a floorboard creaks under my body weight. I freeze before applying pressure again. The same creaking noise arises as something beneath my hand…

It all comes back to me at once. I spring to my feet and pull the carpet a few feet away. A gigantic cloud of dust puffs in the air, but I cast a quick _Tergeo_ with my wand and it vanishes. I bring my attention back to the now bare hardwood flooring and there it is; a slightly larger crack in between two floorboards. My fingers hastily start working on it, my heart racing as I manage to remove the loose floorboard, revealing a rectangular hole the size of a small Kneazle. And inside it, still untouched after all these years, _the_ box.

I take it out with trembling fingers and gently blow on it, removing the thin layer of dust that has somehow managed to make its way through the interstices of the floor. I can still feel the wards keeping the box locked, but I don’t have to remember any of the spells. As I take my wand in hand again, it seems to move on its own, my fingers finding their way through the spells as if I’d locked it yesterday. The box opens with a little click and I lift the lid.

I tremble in excitement as I unearth little treasures from my past: my prefect’s badge, tickets from the Quidditch World Cup, a _Devil’s Kiss_ chocolate wrapper, and a note from Pansy on a small piece of paper, similar to the one I had in my cell, reading: _‘I believe in you.’_ There are also a couple of large badges. I can’t help the smile forming on my lips as I take one of them in hand. I remember the insane hours I had spent Charming those badges to have them change from _Support CEDRIC DIGGORY - the REAL Hogwarts Champion!_ to the utterly creative _POTTER STINKS_ . I run my fingers over the badge, still flickering - albeit feebly - after all these years, and pick up the second one.

This one is slightly different. I must have made a dozen of those badges to supply all the students who, just like me, had been irritated at the time by Harry’s obvious cheating to get his name into the Goblet - or so I thought. Of course, now, I know better. However, in the process of making these badges, a few of them went wrong; some wouldn’t change to _POTTER STINKS,_ others would remain desperately blank. I got rid of all the botched ones, and kept only one, the one I am holding in my hand. That one simply reads: _Support POTTER - The REAL Hogwarts Champion!_ I bring it to my lips, holding it against them briefly before setting it on the floor next to the rest of the objects.

The box is now empty but for one last item that I take in my hand with great care. I caress the soft brown cover of the parchment folder, running my fingers on my name delicately embossed in it. The scent of dragon hide is still very potent after all these years as I close my eyes for a few seconds and let its smell take me back in time. I had received this folder as a gift from my parents on my eleventh birthday, right before starting Hogwarts.

Again, it is not difficult for me to remove the few wards that my… what, sixteen, seventeen year old self… had set. After a light tap on the cover with the tip of my wand, I slide my finger underneath and open the folder.

It’s funny how I am not even surprised to find the dozen clippings from the _Prophet._ Every single one of them is about Harry, and a thrill runs through me as I see his youthful face staring at me. The articles cover several years. The last one dates back to March, 1998.

I take my time reading passages from the articles, smiling in places, my heart aching in others, like when I read about Harry being called ‘disturbed and dangerous.’ I discard the articles on the floor.

The last item in the folder is a simple piece of parchment, torn at the edges. A huge smile forms on my lips as my eyes wander over my own handwriting covering it. I most certainly wrote it during a boring class; Slughorn’s probably.

It isn’t poetic. It isn’t even remotely literary. But it comes from the heart. It reads:

POTTER.  
POTTER POTTER POTTER POTTER  
POTTER POTTER POTTER POTTER  
POTTER POTTER POTTER POTTER  
POTTER POTTER POTTER POTTER  
POTTER POTTER POTTER POTTER  
I HATE YOU, POTTER.  
I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU.  
I HATE YOU. POTTER.  
I HATE YOU.  
I…  
YOU…  
POTTER.

It’s wonderful how sometimes it’s just the little things that push you in the right direction. I point my wand at the items spread upon the floor and they fly back into the box. I Shrink it and tuck it in the inside pocket of my robe.

I get up and walk to the door, pausing a few seconds to take a long last look at the room, my hand on the door frame.

And then that’s it. I descend the stairs swiftly, somehow lighter, the feeling of accomplishment strong inside of me.

I’m half-way down the grand staircase when I see him, looking so small and vulnerable from this height that it makes my heart flip. I look at him, waiting for me by the front door and I smile.

I join him and take him in my arms from behind.

“Let’s go home,” I murmur in his ear.

“Home?” He places his hand on mine.

“Yes, _our_ home.”

He turns his head so fast to look at me that I’m afraid he’s hurt himself. “Do you- Are you serious?” he says in a breath.

“It’s high time, don’t you think?” I smile.

“But what about…” He frowns. I can’t blame him. I’ve told him so many times that I wasn’t ready to move back in with him, that it was too soon, that I needed time, that I needed to be stronger… Of course, he has doubts. “What about all this?” he says, gesturing to the large hallway.

I shake my head. “This is not my home anymore. It belongs… I don’t know to whom it belongs now, but it’s not my home anymore. My home is where you are.” I have to stop talking before I turn into a total sap.

He crushes his mouth on mine and kisses me long and hard. My arms are full of him, and no matter how many times we touch and kiss, it never fails to send a thrill down my spine. He pulls back, still locked in my embrace, and looks at me with an awe I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve. I hope to maintain the illusion as long as I can, though.

“Let’s go,” I say.

“Home,” he adds, a stupid proud smile on his face.

“I think we’ve already established that, you goof.”

“I know, but it feels good to say it again.” He’s still beaming ridiculously.

I roll my eyes. “Really.”

He places a last quick kiss on my lips and takes my arm. “Ready, then?”

This is it. Another chapter of my life. I take a deep breath. “Ready.”

I tighten my hold on Harry’s arm, and close my eyes.

~The End. ~

**Author's Note:**

> You may leave a comment here or return to [Livejournal](http://harrybang.livejournal.com/12327.html)
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! ♥
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr!](http://sophiefrench77.tumblr.com/)


End file.
